


The Paths Less Travelled By

by Fox_the_Hermit



Series: All Roads Lead To The Void [1]
Category: Bleach, Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, BAMF Urahara Kisuke, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, High Chaos (Dishonored), Low Chaos (Dishonored), Mild Gore, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-06-28 09:28:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 80,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19809481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_the_Hermit/pseuds/Fox_the_Hermit
Summary: Kisuke Urahara stands accused of high treason, the murder of the Empress, and the disappearance of the Royal Heir to the throne.The sentence for those crimes is execution.





	1. Chapter 1

The last hints of sunlight disappear. The tiny slit in the wall shows only the dark sky. There’s no moon tonight, no illumination.

_Seven thousand, eight hundred and nine._

The rats in the corner of the cell squeak and writhe, dark shapes twisting in strange and unnatural ways. 

_Seven thousand, eight hundred and thirty eight._

Probably looking at him with their hungry black eyes, waiting for him to finally kick the bucket.

The tiny slivers of metal in his hand dimly reflect the light from the corridor as he plays with them. They’re rusted - or rather, still somewhat covered in dried blood. Broken off slivers of spikes and needles.

_Seven thousand, eight hundred and eighty nine._

Not like the rats could climb the smooth stone slab that’s meant to serve as a bed to access his cooling corpse, but they can certainly hope.

He sits up, bare feet touching the cold stone floor, and the rats startle. The cuts on his back burn, the temporary numbness offered by the cold of the bed fading away. At least they’re mostly cauterised.

It’s been almost twenty minutes since the shift change. They’re comfortable now, less alert, less cautious than perhaps they should be.

_Seven thousand, nine hundred._

The cell is barred, the door simply _locked_. How unwise, now that he thinks of it, from this side of the bars. Acquiring lock-picks or something close enough is not impossible, merely nearly so. Something he’ll need to change, when he can, once…

Once _everything_ is dealt with.

The practicing has paid off. It takes mere moments for the quiet click to sound. He opens the door slowly, quietly, just enough to slip out, and then closes it behind him. No need to make his absence any more obvious that it needs to be.

He glances longingly to the right, at the tall bars, and the locked door.

No, he can’t pick this lock, can’t go this route. There are too many guards watching there right now, and, besides, he needs to go get something else first from the Royal Inquisitor’s office.

He turns left instead, slinking past the neighbouring cells, which are occupied by fellow death row prisoners.

They are asleep now. And if they aren’t… well. They’re not going to rat him out, not when they don’t care enough about anything.

The entrance to this section of the cells is guarded - one guard right in front of the entry, the second standing in the middle of the corridor, a third pacing from corridor to boiler room, and a fourth on the walkway above.

It’s tempting: he could distract the closest guard, lead him to his cell, knock him out, take the uniform, try to impersonate him in the gloom of the night.

But his absence would be noticed, eventually; and if he just takes the uniform for later, the guard will be missed, the lack of the usual noises accompanying his absence tipping off the others to something being very, very wrong.

There’s a short stack of crates, right by the guarded gate out of the death row cell section.

Well, not so short - simply not reaching the incredibly high ceiling. But high enough to get him over the gate.

He grits his teeth, gingerly hauls himself to the top of the stack, and perches at the top of the barrier, hidden by the darkness, like a cat. Waiting.

It’s too late for the guards to bother with chitchat much, which is not ideal for him - talking could mask the noises he makes.

Guard Three grunts at Guard One and turns back, walking to the boiler room, watched by Guard Two. 

How many times has he heard this clockwork-like exchange in the last six months?

 _Three_.

The trick is to avoid peripheral vision.

_Two._

He slinks down the other side of the barrier, dropping to the ground, pressing himself to the wall, and hopes One doesn’t see him dash through the deep shadows to hide behind one of the pillars lining the corridor. He feels the strain already, but he can’t rest, not here and not now.

The moment that he passes through the light on his way to hide behind the third pillar almost makes his heart stop.

If he’s seen, it’s all over.

It took forever to figure out the ideal blind spot here, so close to the heating room - requiring discreet staring around while being dragged to and from interrogation sessions. But now, he can’t see where the guards are, exactly. Or be seen.

But he can hear them. Guard Three is walking back, now - ten seconds to get to One, exchange words, ten to go back and start looking at something in the boiler room, another second before Two turns away to play dice with himself on a table and watch over the Yard.

Routine.

So very routine.

The times are never quite perfect, of course, but close to it.

He counts. 

And now... he can go. Hopefully the guard at the other end of the long corridor doesn’t see him, or will think it’s just a shadow.

Seeing shadows… Paranoia runs rampant. That’s something everyone’s been complaining about for a long time now - inside the prison, and out. 

He glances, briefly, at the guard whose back is to him now.

Shadows in the corners and monsters in the cellars.

The guard has a fat coin pouch and a pistol.

But he can’t risk being noticed, not now, and no matter how much he will need coin later - besides, extra weight will slow him down.

He turns left instead, and goes through the door.

There’s a small room here, and a door to the staircase that leads to the walkway.

But that door is locked, which leaves him climbing a stack of crates and boxes to the very top, where there is a small platform overlooking the room, and another door to the walkway.

There are some shelves there with supplies - but the only thing that interests him there is a finger-sized glass vial, full of a bright red liquid. Unohana’s concoction, an elixir meant to prevent one from catching the plague.

The red is almost paint-like. A full ration then, undiluted.

Good. He’ll need every vial he can get his hands on if he wants to pass through the sewer tunnels and exit them without catching every disease in the city.

The door to the walkway is closed, and he kneels down to peer through the keyhole.

Four is there, watching over the corridor, a key to the walkway _proper_ glinting on his belt.

A faint snore reaches his ears, as expected.

Napping on the job. How unprofessional.

Seconds later, he’s scurrying to the locked door of the rest of the walkway, one key richer.

He peers carefully through the bars, watching the corridor.

There’s a guard, Five, walking ahead of him.

He knows that this one stops at the staircase, looks down at the room below, then returns to patrol the walkway, before going down to the exercise yard.

He needs to hurry up, if he wants to slip past in time.

His bare feet sound too loud against the metal floor for his taste - but there’s nothing he can do about that.

The top of the staircase is dark, and he knows he is being _quiet_ , but it’s impossible not to hold his breath when walking right past the guard’s back.

He slips down the staircase, stopping at the half-way landing.

His feet are going to regret it, but… he vaults over the railing, landing near-silently on the concrete floor, still hidden in shadows.

The impact against the cold, hard floor hurts. But it doesn’t matter.

Not when there’s a real possibility he might make it out tonight.

Five hums, and murmurs something about cigars, and turns around.

Now is the moment.

He dashes across the well-lit area, ignoring the tantalising glimmer of coins on a bench, and slips through the door to the Royal Interrogator’s office.

The room is empty of people, as expected of the late hour, and the smaller storage room going off it is not locked.

He sinks to his knees, permitting himself a brief rest.

He needs to be careful about how he spends his energy. So very careful.

He can afford to sit down, just for a little while.

The floor is dark, darker still in some places because of the stains.

Blood. Plenty of it his own.

He closes his eyes to avoid looking at the chair, the heater and its cold coals, the hooks from the ceiling, the cases of the Interrogator Soi Fon’s tools along the walls.

The newest burns on his back ache.

Once he can take a deep breath and _not_ feel like his ribs are cracking from the effort, he stands up.

There’s nothing useful to be found in the desk drawers, of course, and the audiograph player with its card, while possibly tempting as an information source, will likely play back nothing more than Soi Fon’s last session with him.

She finds them enjoyable to relisten to.

Void, he should never have let her hold any sort of position of power. Yoruichi should never have doubted her instincts about the eerie woman.

He goes to the storage room and start poking through the things there,

Wine, more wine, more assorted alcohols, books, tools… Two safe boxes.

He frowns, and tries to open one of them.

The door swings open.

So much pride in the security here, eh? It is odd, still.

A pistol, ammunition… two coins.

Not actually worth protecting, then.

And a grenade.

Okay. That should be enough for his purpose.

Time to get to the yard, then the security areas one and two at the prison’s exit, and then _out_ , to the river, the sewer, Dunwall city. To- No, that’s for later.

First, escape.

Peering through the keyhole, he sees Five already opening the door to the exercise yard. Fantastic timing.

He follows, dashing through the door and then to the right to hide behind a pile of hound transport cages in the yard, before the talking guards can take note of him.

Thank the Outsider they haven’t decided to start letting wolfhounds out on patrols of the prison corridors yet. Although, he’s so thin these days, that perhaps a single rat would be a more nutritious meal than him.

He sits, recovering his breath, and listens to the guards talk.

“The execution is scheduled in three days for him. Do you think he’ll confess to the assassination before then?”

That is a new voice. A new guard, or just from a different section of this hellish pit?

“Well, he hasn’t cracked yet. As long as he gets his due, though… I know that some didn’t like the Empress much, but I did. I want justice served.”

Ah. That voice is far more familiar to him than he wants it to be. It belongs to one of the Interrogator’s henchmen, always happy to help her break spirits and destroy dignity with some personal touches of _creativity_.

“But what if he _is_ innocent?”

“He’s not, he can’t be. There was no one else even near the crime scene. By the Void… I still shudder to think of how he managed to kidnap and hide the daughter before the guards came. Or… maybe he just threw her into the sea.”

Right. Stairs, now.

He can do this.

Maybe he should count his bare feet a blessing. Most prisoners’ boots would be louder than this when running.

Even if his feet ache.

It’s night. The only guards in the first section are the duo in the booths that control the gate to the prison’s antechamber.

There’s no direct line of sight from the booth to the door he just went through, mainly because of the unfinished construction of security devices, design courtesy of Unohana.

She has many skills, and medicine isn’t her only specialty.

It’s an arc pylon they’re building, as far as he’s heard. A weapon to fry any unauthorised person trying to go past it.

Used to uphold the quarantine in the city, these days.

Once it’s finished here, no prisoner would be able to even dream of escape.

Whale oil tanks stand in a neat row by the wall, and he’s almost tempted to take one from here, drag it along with him as he climbs the piping along the wall, up and up, passing over the gate to the antechamber.

But his body will not forgive him this strain.

Best to hope there’s tanks on the other side before resorting to drastic measures. A grenade is nice, but it’s not about to make a hole in a solid steel door. Whale oil, on the other hand...

The pipes along the walls are large - large enough to balance on, strong enough to hold him.

He tries not to think about falling. Or failing.

There’s only one guard in the last room, reading a book at the control desk, right under the railings and the pipes.

The dim blue glow of whale oil tanks lighting up the left corner of the room, right under the railing of the raised part of the room, draws out a sigh of relief.

The guard, and the gate to the outside world.

The last two obstacles - and ones that he should be able to overcome.

Not making a sound, he crawls along the pipes along the top of the gate, and then along the side of the room the guard is in . He drops down to the cabinets right behind the guard, and then drops down, again.

The guard, even taken by surprise, struggles when he starts choking him, elbowing him painfully in the ribs. But he doesn’t have a chance, not against a proper chokehold and then a pinch to the right nerves.

The struggling dies off as the guard loses consciousness.

His own ragged breathing is the only sound he can hear now.

That was risky, he admits, as he takes two more red vials from the cabinets, and then eyes the guard.

The sewers are cold, watery, and dirty. 

Bare feet aren’t going to cut it.

The guard’s shoes are a size too big, maybe, but they’ll do the trick, even if he’ll have to carry them in his hands, for now. They’ll make it even harder to swim if they’re on.

The comfort of socks, however temporary, is extraordinary.

He slips on the guard’s coat over his torn shirt, adjusts the belt for the elixir, ammunition, and the money pouches.

The guard’s sword is not bad, and after a moment’s thought, he decides to take it too.

If he needs to skewer rats, or stab someone from the back, it should do the trick.

The oil tanks are heavy, so heavy that he can barely drag them. It may be the weight - or the months of special treatment in this prison.

He sets three by the door, and then walks a fair distance back.

The explosion won’t be pretty.

He takes out the grenade’s pin, and tosses it, before rushing down the stairs, to get as far away as he can.

The explosion is deafening.

Red lights - alarms - flash in his peripheral vision, the stench of whale oil and smoke and molten metal chokes him, but he doesn’t pay attention as he runs through the holes, and down the rocky slope by the side of the prison wall, until he can be sure-

He jumps.

Falls.

Hits the water, slipping under the surface like a fish, with nary a splash, careful to keep hold of the boots. 

It’s cold, and the impact drives the air out of his lungs anyway. It’s nothing like the ever-warm water of Karnaca, of _Serkonos_.

He can feel the weight of the coat trying to pull him down, but he refuses, kicking, and then swims to the small gap in the opposing cliff-face, where the entrance to the sewers is.

The persistent ringing in his ears brings up a niggling worry about deafness, but this is not something he has time for.

The air is even colder after the short swim, and he shivers as he stumbles onto the shore, the mix of muck and rocks and weeds. He puts on the boots - heavy and wet, but at least his feet will be safe from glass and sharp, uneven surfaces.

Casting a last look at the prison towering far above him on the opposite shore of the moat, he grins unhappily.

First death row inmate to escape Coldridge prison in half a century. Not a title he ever thought about earning.

Perhaps he’ll even be able to _stay_ escaped. Of course, that’s not a certainty.

He vanishes into the sewers of Dunwall. Almost back to his roots, he thinks, wryly smiling. After all, that’s where he started his life on a different Isle of the Empire.

The maintenance tunnel continues past the unlocked first door, and then leads to another door - locked, thankfully - that now contains a hissing, angry swarm of bloodthirsty plague rats behind it.

There’s a gap between the ceiling of the tunnel and the ceiling of the.. barred corridor. A large rat cage?

The gap is not large, and his hands and knees do not approve of him crawling, but at least it’s still better than facing the rats.

“Do they know who’s escaped yet?”

A voice echoes from somewhere further on, and he slows down, listening anxiously.

“No, I haven't got the word yet. Whoever it is, they left Coldridge like a ghost. No one saw anything, no one heard anything.”

“Creepy.”

The door at the other end of the cage swings open, and two members of the City Watch walk in. Blue uniforms - Lower City Watch, then.

The rat horde below turns, like a tide, and swarms the two men in seconds.

They scream and slash at the rodents with their swords, but to no avail.

They aren’t fast enough, the swarm too big, plague rats one and all, large and fierce. The men fall, and the rats feast.

Nausea wracks him, but he hasn’t eaten recently enough to throw up _quite_ so easily. Besides, he’s had the misfortune of seeing men devoured alive by rats before.

He crawls on.

The door to the corridor the guards came from is closed, thank the Void, keeping the rat horde nice and far from him.

He drops down to the floor, and shudders.

Or maybe shivers. He’s been doing that a lot since he emerged from the icy water.

The dubious smell of the water reaches him before he rounds the curve in the tunnel and sees the _actual_ sewer water, illuminated by dim lights set into the walls.

He has three elixirs and no desire to acquaint himself with the plague, so he downs one.

The taste is bitter, as always, and burns his mouth. It’s almost good, however, reassuring, compared to the tiny rations normally given to prisoners like him.

The tunnel systems under Dunwall are great and extensive - but he has no idea where and how the quarantine has spread in the last months, and he certainly can’t go to the Estate District. Best bet… come out near some docks, cross the river, hide in the Financial District.

Hide, recover, plan his next moves, somehow.

The next part of the tunnel is blocked, the only way being through the water tunnel. 

Great.

He is loathe to take another swim in the water of the sewers, but he has no choice - and at least this water is streaming _from_ the river, not towards it, so it is not as filthy as it could be.

He climbs out of it the moment he can, anyway, sopping wet again, and freezing, looking longingly at the small whale oil lamps scattered around, and knowing they’d be nowhere near enough to keep him warm.

He moves on.

There’s corpses scattered around the place. He prods all of them, looking for signs of money or anything useful. If he wants to buy things and not get immediately sold out to the closest guards, he’ll need a lot of coin.

There’s a couple, curled together in death. 

Dead from the plague, their diary reveals, too poor to afford any more elixir, deciding to live out their last days together.

Another corpse in the water, barely bloated - recently dead, then.

Further on, there’s a locked gate, a dead Weeper draped over the wheel to raise it, and he hauls him off with disgust and care, hoping he won’t get infected.

That’s the last thing he needs when he has to stay alive long enough to rescue Yoruichi’s daughter. Wherever she is being kept.

Void, he really hopes the elixir is enough to keep him safe tonight.

He passes a room with corpses being dropped from above by guards too lazy to dispose of the dead properly, another rat swarm happily milling about, ready to consume any corpse that falls in the right place.

They’re distracted long enough for him to open the gate onwards and slip through undisturbed.

And then it’s just more dark, damp, lantern-lit tunnels.

At one point a tunnel ends, and he has to climb a chain, every muscle screaming in protest at the effort. He flops on the floor, after, gathering his breath.

How much further?

Far. He has to reach the docks, get out, get across the river, find a place to stay.

So very far.

On one of the stairs leading to an elevated part of the tunnel, there’s a tripwire. He carefully steps over it, looking for the box with the bolts.

He could disarm it, take the bolt. Or leave it undisturbed, taking out a potential pursuer, and not letting the gang that set it know that someone passed through.

The walls are marked with white skull marking - Dead Eel territory, then, or maybe it was once. The new gang might not have had time to mark the place with their own graffiti.

He finds a trunk, further on, a note on top.

_Former Lord Protector._

_How unfairly you were stripped of that title. We have left supplies here for you to find, just like we had been the ones to send a friend to your cell with a key to leave in your mid-day meal. Pass through, and you shall meet Samuel, a boatman, who will take you to our residence. We hope to see you soon, to right the wrongs in this city._

_Signed,_

_Friends._

He pauses here, considering the note. Someone was planning to break him out - even bring him to a _safe place_. When? Tomorrow? Or the day right before the execution?

But with everyone on high alert now that he’s escaped - too early, apparently - this Samuel is unlikely to show up. Especially now, a time far earlier than was planned for.

Well. He can still take the supplies, even if he can’t meet with these conspirators.

He unlatched the trunk, heaving open the heavy sections of the lid.

There’s a crossbow, drawing his eyes first, with normal and syringe-like bolts both available. Sleep or poison bolts? No way to know. But probably sleep darts; killing with normal bolts would be faster than poison ones.

There’s a sword, too, an odd and light contraption that folds and unfolds when he presses part of the design on the handle. Shorter than the guard sword, but lighter and more comfortable - and much easier to carry.

Even better, however, are the piles of clean clothes in the trunk, along with a pair of boots. There’s spare clothes too.

He strips himself of the prison clothes and the guard’s coat and boots, the cold biting at his wet skin, and dries himself with the spare shirts that he won’t need, before dressing in the tailor-made clothes- now too big for his skinny frame.

Then he dresses himself, in the dark blue set of clothes - good for sneaking about, especially in the night, and moves the two remaining red vials from the other pouches, to the new ones from the trunk.

The tall leather boots are, at least, his size, and the soles are the right kind for walking about quietly.

In these clothes, he almost feels _warm_.

He chucks the sword and coat into the water, before picking up the key in the trunk, presumably to the nearby gate, and moves on.

The map of the sewers in his head is a bit shaky. Exhaustion, maybe, and never knowing the whole thing in the first place. He mostly knew the parts nearest the Tower, just the places someone might try to sneak an assassin through, or through which an assailant might enter and exit while fleeing from him after a foiled assassination attempt.

And now he’s the very fugitive using the tunnels just for that purpose, walking through tunnels full of corpses and rats and traps to escape the City Watch.

After climbing a final set of stairs, he finally arrives at an exit to the city itself. 

Void, let it not be a Watch outpost or a gang nest now.

He peers through the keyhole. The room is a ground floor of a dockmaster’s office. Dark and deserted, the windows letting in only the faintest light from the streets.

He’s safe, for now - hopefully, in the dead of night, no one patrols the docks.

He picks the lock of the door, and goes through, warily looking out through the windows.

There are plenty of boats docked in the area, many of them rowboats - but those are not a viable option for him. He has to take a motor boat.

He walks around the office, fishing through cupboards, until he finds a drawer full of neatly labelled keys for the to-hire motor boats.

The night is pierced with the crackling of a loudspeaker, and then a broadcast, and he freezes.

“ _Attention, citizens of Dunwall. The treasonous assassin, Kisuke Urahara, responsible for the murder of our fair Empress Yoruichi Shihouin-Kaldwin, and the disappearance of Lady Emily Ururu Shihouin-Kaldwin, has temporarily escaped state custody. Any evidence as to his whereabouts must be delivered to the City Watch at once. All evidence of suspicious activity is to be reported immediately. He is to be captured or killed at any cost.”_

Ah, he’s… forgotten about these announcements.

Very inconvenient.

Could they not have at least waited till morning, before putting the whole city on high alert?

...He has to _move_ , before the guards start arriving to cut off any and all potential escape routes.

He takes the key to the _Wolfhound,_ and slips out via a window. 

The boat ends up being a small motor boat nearby, starting up with no issues, and he heads out immediately, not bothering to either light the lamp or switch on the small flashlight. No need to negate the advantage of escaping on a new moon night, after all.

Part of the opposing shore has glimmers of light in the windows of the houses - but part doesn’t, buildings and streets a dark shadow across the water.

A blackout, quarantine, or an abandoned district?

Either way, likely the safest place for a fugitive to stay at.

He has to rest. Recover. Perhaps find the people who planned to break him out, who may… well have a hideout in an abandoned district, if there is one, away from the prying eyes of the Watch.

Then… he needs to figure out how to get at the new Lord Regent’s allies and find information about Lady Emily. Find out how to rescue her.

The waters are quiet, the hum of the boat underneath him soothing, almost soporific. 

The boat gently bumping against the shore startles him out of the light doze he’s sunk into, and he berates himself.

He cannot afford to be this inattentive, this weak.

There’s nowhere to tie the boat to on this rough shore - and letting it keep on drifting by the shore will disguise the location where he landed .

Still, he can keep the key, just in case the boat doesn’t drift off, and he needs to flee over the water again.

All of the street lamps here are out, and there’s not even a single glimmer of light in the windows, not even night-time candles. The smell of water and decay wafts from somewhere, brought to him by a stiff breeze.

In the dark, it’s near impossible to see - but the windows seem to be shattered, or boarded.

With the curfew, he doesn’t expect to see late night walkers - but there aren’t even guards here.

The place is dead silent. 

Perhaps… perhaps this district truly is abandoned.

Time to try the doors then.

He goes back up the street - being closer to the shore might be a little safer than being deeper into the city. And the further away the house is from any intersecting streets, the longer it would take a random Watch inspection to get to his place.

The doors to the first block, and the two after it, are locked, but the fourth one gives in after some persuasion, and closes after some more.

Not the most secure thing, but he has to work with what he has. And he needs a place to rest, at least for the night.

The stairs creak despite his most earnest attempts to stay quiet and keep to the wall, and he goes straight up. He can always escape with an attic window, if need be.

He passes multiple open doors as he goes. The residents must have left in a hurry, or a looter took advantage of the empty homes. The floor is covered in dust when he touches it. No one’s been here for a while - and there’s no Weeper stink, here.

Safe. He should be safe here.

The door to the top apartment has taken damage, which isn’t ideal for a safe place to stay, but it also means no one would guess that there could be someone hiding in such an ill-defended place…

And besides, he’s probably being far more paranoid than necessary, especially for choosing a one-night residence.

Anyone finding him here would think he’s a Weeper or something, not a fugitive, and would probably run to escape the risk of infection. Or shoot him in the back to put him out of his misery, that’s also a fun option.

He sighs, and enters.

There’s a living room, several bedrooms, a kitchen, a bathroom - the taps have running water, at the very least, and it looks and smells clean enough. Haven’t cut the water supply to this place then, yet.

It might be better to boil it anyway, but right now, he just wants to drink something, and possibly take a shower to wash off the dirt of the sewers. He probably still reeks.

Besides, stinking like the sewer won’t help him be stealthy.

A shower is a luxury he can afford.

The apartment is wrecked, clearly looted - or the scene of an altercation - but there are towels in one of the thrown-open drawers, and a bunch of blankets in another.

He shivers from the cold water, but gets a fire going in the fireplace soon enough; there’s some wood stored up, and, of course, furniture to burn.

He crawls into the blanket pile by the fire, and wonders at the incredible softness of them, something he’s… forgotten over the last months of sleeping on a stone slab.

Tomorrow will be the day to start thinking of the future.

Tonight, he just sleeps.

 _Tomorrow_ , he wakes up utterly exhausted. His vision swims, his ears feel stuffed full of cotton, and every joint aches in protest at the slightest movement. 

His body refuses to work, he can barely stumble to the bathroom to relieve himself, never mind leave the apartment, or attempt to plan- anything.

He curls up under the covers, feeding the fire in between bouts of lost consciousness. 

It doesn’t feel pleasant enough to call sleep.

Wherever Lady Emily is - she’s not well, she’s not safe, and his duty is to go and rescue her, before taking care of himself, and he is angry that - that his body is so weak. But he can’t fight through it. 

It’s the crash from too much exertion, too much effort, he’s certain… and without medical attention and sufficient food, recovery will not be quick.

Especially considering the stint in Coldridge.

If he is to be useful… he must rest. He must put his duty second, and his health first, however counterintuitive it seems.

Mouthing apologies, he manages to shiver his way through heating up several cans of whale meat, and eating the contents. Whatever brand it is, it’s not the best, because he’s pretty sure that non-expired meat ought not taste like this. Or be so chewy, like the sole of a shoe.

Perhaps… he just forgot this, grew accustomed. Or perhaps this brand uses the worse part of the whale for their cans.

One of the loudspeakers in the area still works, cheerfully relaying regular broadcasts - mostly warnings about him, the plague, curfew, and river krusts.

They’re probably putting up posters with his face on them all round the city. A sad smile creeps across his face without his volition. He’s famous, now, perhaps the most famous man in the city - has been for a while, actually. 

After all, he’s the Empress-killer, as far as the city knows.

The fire in the grate rises and falls, crackling quietly.

Not a pleasant achievement, this _fame_. He’d rather be famous for curing the plague, or some such. 

On the bright side, hearing his name more often in the past day than in the last six months is doing a great job at making it feel like his own again. Like he _has_ a name.

He wakes up violently shivering, colder still, joints hurting _worse_. His lungs hurt, and he coughs violently, when sitting up.

What is wrong?

He stumbles to the kitchen to drink water - perhaps he’s just dehydrated - and has to lean on the walls to get there.

His head hurts, like he’s concussed - but he’s certain he hadn’t hid it. Maybe… the water…?

The fire is out, and he almost sets himself aflame while reviving it, to warm up some more of the cans.

Belatedly, he remembers - he should drink one of the red vials.

Except- he’s run out, somehow.

He stumbles down the stairs and into the other apartments, forcing himself to search for more of the bitter liquid, and finds a handful of hidden vials, downing one of them.

He thinks he falls down on his way back. Maybe several times.

He’s not sure.

The elixir, it has to help.

With all illnesses, not just the plague.

He doesn’t have the plague, of course not. He can’t.

Whatever this is… it will pass.

It has to pass.

By the evening, it’s worse, the coughing almost ceaseless, the taste of copper in his mouth.

In the morning, the light from the outside is near unbearable to his eyes.

There’s not much wood left to keep the fire alive, to keep him warm, to heat up food and water, but he can’t do more than shiver under the blankets, drink the red vials, and continue coughing.

The rats in the prison - he suspected, still suspects… that some of them had the plague.

The prisoners got half-rations of the elixir, or less, when the guards bothered to give it out.

And wouldn’t letting in a plague rat or two ever so neatly solve the problem of having too many prisoners? Normal rats manage to get in a nip every so often, once you’re there long enough to stop caring about them. A plague rat would never be noticed.

When Yoruichi was Empress, of course, this would not have happened, not been tolerated.

But the Lord Regent… the Lord Regent does what he does.

The rats got him a few days ago, now. 

Likely as not… he was already sick on his way out of the prison.

He can’t sleep because of the coughing, the deep stabbing pain in his sternum intolerable.

This is worse than the time he got the Blood Cough back in Karnaca.

But the plague- oh, the plague will get so much worse than that.

He didn’t escape just to submit to the plague, he thinks, bitter, and wants to _scream_ , to shout and curse and cry.

Of course, all he can do is weakly sign profanity at the walls and shiver by the remnants of the fire. 

He catches himself stumbling about the house in delirium, leaning against walls and emptying out any cupboards in the apartments he can find, searching for more elixir, for any _hope_.

He’s not in the Weeper stage, not yet. Just feverish. Desperate.

He’ll be Weeping soon enough, however, at this rate.

He doesn’t have friends or allies or anyone who knows the truth. Anyone who could rescue Lady Emily. 

She must be so scared. So alone.

Except… there are those nameless would-be rescuers. But who knows what they can and can’t do?

Can they rescue the Lady after he breathes his last?

Can he trust them to do that?

  


He’s not long for this world, he can feel it. There’s no cure. Nothing that the natural philosophers have made, nothing that the Royal Physician Unohana has managed to brew up.

He will not be able to do his duty.

Again.

He fails again.

Curled up in the dark, too tired to cough, he is plagued with the memory.

_Arriving at the waterlock, exiting the boat._

_Meeting Emily on the bridge, her running up to him, him picking her up and swinging her around._

_“Kisuke, you’re back! It’s been months, and we’ve missed you so much! Mother is talking with that nasty Old Spymaster, she’ll be a while- Can you play hide and seek with me?”_

_He nods, smiles, and plays with her for a while._

_So long, all the months at sea - for nothing. The other Isles refuse to help, no matter how much he pleaded and explained and negotiated._

_He can understand them, in truth._

_He is walking to the gazebo with the letter, the bad news, and handing it over._

_Watching Yoruichi pace, talking aloud._

_Looking away._

_Emily, asking, “Who are those strange men on the rooftop?”_

_Shooting three assassins in painted Whaler masks that appear out of thin air, watching them vanish, thinking it’s over-_

_Being frozen as the world turns green, as a blond Morleyan man in a red coat and without a mask runs Yoruichi through with a sword, the Outsider’s symbol glowing on his left hand, through his glove._

Tears leak down his cheeks.

He never… he never was a believer in the Outsider, no matter how often the Abbey preached about her evils, taught of her misdeeds. The storms, draughts, plagues, all that they said was caused by a malicious deity could be explained by natural philosophy, study and observations and experimentation.

There’s nothing divine about weather patterns.

The only exceptions to the Abbey’s drivel - the whale oil, the whalebone madness, and now… these assassins that killed Yoruichi.

Led by a man branded with the Mark. He chokes out a bitter, silent laugh. Even if he survived this illness, by some miracle, he will never be able to fight through witches armed with supernatural powers.

He can never win.

He falls into green-tinted dreams where he can’t move or scream, only watch the blood drown the Tower, the gazebo, and then, finally, him.

How long does he have? He does not know.

He’s seen enough silent drunkards, and superstitious and sea-drunk seamen going out into the storm, to know there is something to the carved whalebone runes and bonecharms the Abbey and the Overseers so detest.

Is it magic?

Maybe… 

Thoughts form sluggishly, reluctantly.

Maybe if he finds a rune, or a shrine, maybe he can beg for the Outsider to listen. To help him like she helps the assassins. Maybe he can offer his soul.

If she exists, of course.

He can barely climb the staircases of the neighbouring houses. Can barely check for hidden rooms, secret compartments.

But he is very much out of options.

He sinks to the floor of yet another wrecked apartment, his ears full of an odd sound, somewhere between a hiss and a hum and the sound of waves. Auditory hallucinations, most likely. 

It’s almost like music, really, almost like-

He struggles to his feet, and listens, trying to pinpoint the source.

The other rooms of this apartment he’s already checked, but the sound- it seeps through the bookshelf against the nearest wall.

Books fall to the floor as he searches for the lever, until he finds one that he can pull back, but not out.

And the shelf moves with a loud groan, reluctantly swinging open and brushing away the pile of fallen books, nearly hitting him in the process.

The music is much, much louder now. Calling out for him.

 _Whalesong_ , from the shrine in a hidden room.

He stumbles in, staring at the purple-draped walls, the still-burning purple lamps and candles, the altar with offerings and three carved whalebone runes resting atop the table.

Maybe the owner was praying for protection from the disease.

Or asking for something else - who knows.

The song roars in his ears, loud and incomprehensible, and his vision blurs - from exhaustion, or the fumes of the candles, maybe.

He sinks to his knees.

His eyes sting- he’s crying, isn’t he, cool tears running down his fever-hot skin.

Terror or relief or exhaustion, he’s not sure.

Likewise, he does not know - does not care to know - if those tears are red and bloody now.

He doesn’t know what the prayers are. If there are any. What one is supposed to say now. Are there strictures and rules, just like for the Abbey?

That doesn’t feel right.

His hands flicker between the signs for “ _Please_ ,” and “ _Help me_ ,” and “ _I beg of you_.”

Say. Prayers are supposed to be said, aren’t they?

Would a god even be able to hear a prayer that’s signed and not said?

 _“I’ll do anything_ ,” starts slipping in between the others.

Was the death of the Empress the will of the god? If the Marked one did it?

“ _I shall serve you._ ”

What would make a god interested?

 _“I’ll drown the Abbey in its blood for you,_ ” slips out, almost desperate- and he’s not sure he doesn’t mean it. Because if he can save Lady Emily- Perhaps there’s no price he’s not ready to pay. 

“Please, let me- let me save her. Please. Please.”

If he dies- He has no idea how he will face Yoruichi in the Void, tell her that he had not been able to save her daughter. That he’s failed his life’s purpose twice.

He stumbles over the signs as his vision starts to grey out, the whalesong blending in with his heartbeat. Or maybe the other way around. Perhaps, if he lies down just for a little, just leans against the altar…

He wakes up, and blinks rapidly at the bright blue light around him.

He’s kneeling not on the floor of a room, now, but on familiar stone tiles. The throne room of the Tower.

Which means, in front of him- will be not the altar, but the throne.

He’s been granted an audience?

Opening his mouth, he tries to speak - surely, in the Void, his voice will be restored?

But there’s only silence. Even here, he is still mute.

He dares not look up at the throne, not directly, but he straightens as much as he can, keeping his head bowed.

Haltingly, he starts to sign.

“ _Greetings. You have my most sincere gratitude for-” How does one address a god? “-for granting me an audience._ ”

“Hello, Kisuke Urahara.”

Her voice is almost painful to listen to. Singsong, lilting, but whether it’s high or low, smooth or rough is impossible to determine Like the sea itself. It is all things.

“Your life has taken quite a turn. Your Empress is dead, her precious child, your new charge, has been taken, and you... you’ve broken out of a prison to escape a fate you did not earn.”

He can hear the rustling of clothing, footsteps coming closer, circling him.

The weight of a gaze on his back is tangible.

“You could play a pivotal role in the days to come, if you were to walk through this city, dear Kisuke.”

She stops right in front of him, and he can see the tattered hem of a dress. Red like roses. Red like blood.

In his peripheral vision, he can see a corpse-pale hand reach for his face. Cold fingers tilt his chin up until he’s staring at the Outsider’s face, grip unyielding but also, somehow, disconcertingly _gentle_.

Her eyes are pure black, reflecting none of the ambient blue light of this strange mockery of the throne room, and he can’t look away.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realises he’s ever so slightly leaning in to the touch. Like a dog denied affection for so long it’ll let any stranger pet it, would roll over for anyone.)

“There are any number of paths you could take, any number of actions. Men with the power to break or make empires, men whose paths I am not certain of, are few and far between, and such entertainment is a rare treat indeed. For this, I give you my Mark.”

“ _Thank you,”_ he signs, hands ever so slightly shaking.

“Hold out your hand to me. Your left one.”

He obeys.

She takes it, her grip on his wrist as unyielding as a metal shackle.

A long, jagged-nailed finger hovers over the sickly-pale skin, as though she’s tracing out the Mark.

Then the skin on his hand parts as though the Outsider is holding a scalpel instead of nothing, carving the Mark into his hand. 

In comparison to Soifon’s interrogation techniques, it’s not even enough to draw a hiss from him.

The pain doesn’t last. The skin seals back up, a black line remaining where the incisions were, until the design is complete. Until he’s Marked.

She lets go, and he draws his hand back, gingerly flexing his fingers, and the Mark glimmers _gold_.

“Follow me,” the deity declares, and vanishes.

He tries to stand up, and finds that he can do it, with some difficulty. The dizziness is lesser now - perhaps the effect of this place, perhaps of the Mark.

He looks around.

The room abruptly ends at the edges, falling apart into broken, jagged stones leading up into the void, into the infinite blue.

Too far to jump to, however. How is he meant to follow?

Ah, but the assassins had been able to teleport, hadn’t they?

He frowns, and flexes his fingers again, watching the Mark glimmer on his hand.

He narrows his eyes, stretches his hand out sharply, _reaching_ for the nearest platform.

And it feels like there’s strings in his fingers, gold lines flickering from the hand to the surface of the rock, almost like threads- or golden lightning.

Targeting? He twitches his hand, and the place the threads sink into moves obligingly.

Now, how to...

He pulls his hand back, just a little, and suddenly, his vision is swallowed by gold, a sharp jolt of static running through his bones, and then he’s stumbling, standing where he was just looking at, electricity buzzing unpleasantly under his skin.

Void.

He’s either vividly hallucinating all of this, or this is all actually real.

He’s not sure which possibility is worse. Or better.

He looks at the next floating rock, and does _it_ again, and then again, flickering from one spot to the next. Might as well call it that, _Flickering._

The next spot in his journey upwards...

It’s not a rock.

It’s the gazebo. Too high for him to see inside, but- the ability doesn’t seem to care, the golden lines arcing over the edge and in, hopefully to the middle. If he knows where he’s going, why should he need to be able to see inside?

He Flickers.

And scrambles back from the pool of dried blood.

Her body, it’s not there, not where it fell. Just a pool of blood, and the fallen letter.

He kneels, picking it up with shaking fingers.

_YOU FAILED._

Two words, repeated over and over, covering the entire sheet of paper, front and back.

The page flutters from his nerveless fingers, falls to the stained stone.

He shakes his head, makes himself turn away, and look to where the path leads him.

Concentrates.

But the golden lines fail to form properly, breaking off, and his head _hurts_ when he tries to force the Flicker, limbs shaking from exhaustion.

What could that...

Oh. He’s run out of power, of energy - of magic.

But, surely... the Outsider has not set all of this up just to trap him here with his crime and his guilt. 

Of course, the Abbey _would_ decree that it’s entirely in her character, to promise everything and give nothing the moment she has what she wants, the soul.

Yet, the Abbey decrees many things, and many of _those_ he knows to be false.

He makes himself glance around the bloody gazebo, not letting his gaze linger on the blood. There’s the plants climbing over the balcony, and the rails themselves. And a vial of bright blue liquid on the ground, half hidden by the railing.

Not whale oil, surely?

He walks over and picks it up gingerly.

“ _M.K.’s Remedy”_ is scrawled in shaky cursive on a tiny label on the vial. 

An alternate version to Unohana’s work? Bootleg elixirs always crop up when the real thing is too expensive, and some of them even work, to some extent.

He carefully pries the top off, and drains it in one go, the liquid burning his tongue and throat harshly.

Well, it certainly doesn’t _taste_ any better.

It takes a few moments, but the headache fades, and the only-now noticed sharp numbness to his hand vanishes. And he feels... it’s not strength, exactly, or energy as he’d usually describe it, but it has returned, where before it was _absent._

This time, the golden lines are as strong as in the beginning, and he Flickers across. And pauses, taking inventory of his state.

He feels… the power _restore_ itself, this time, slowly.

Interesting. He must wait between uses, then, in order to not have to resort to the… _remedy_ too often. Goodness knows where he’s supposed to find another of these vials - unless it’s so potent and popular it’s spread across half the city. He wouldn’t know if it had, of course.

Patience is clearly a virtue _valued_ by the Outsider, then, if it is rewarded by more power.

The next stop is an altar, similar to the one he found – but larger, grander, candles glowing an unearthly purple where they stand - or hover, the flame frozen, unmoving.

A _thing_ rests there. It looks like a heart, roughly, made of wire and clockwork and shards of white bone. It beats, softly, like a living thing, swaddled in purple silk. 

A dark magic artefact, clearly. Revulsion twists his stomach, but he has no doubt that this thing is meant for _him_.

It fits in one hand. It’s warm to the touch, still beating. Just plucked out of the chest of some monster, perhaps.

He seriously considers throwing it away.

“The heart of a living thing,” the Outsider says right behind him, and he spins around, involuntarily squeezing the object in his hand.

“ _This place is the cradle. This is the place that will eat every light in the sky one day.”_

The voice is in his head, distorted and echoing and still _agonizingly_ familiar.

“It will guide you on your journey, will whisper secret truths to you, and only you. It is my second gift to you - I hope you enjoy it.”

How dare she. _How dare she_.

He doesn’t want this dark, twisted thing that speaks with the voice of Yoruichi. He doesn’t want to hear her voice, defiled, stolen.

“Listen to the beat, and it will bring you to runes and shrines.”

He sketches a quick, one-handed thanks, because you do not refuse a god, and the Heart thrums softly in his hand.

The Outsider inclines her head.

“Farewell. I shall enjoy watching your decisions, dear _Lord Protector_.”

The world falls away, the ground underneath dissolving and letting him fall into the _blue._

He keels forward before catching himself, the accursed Heart still in his hand, now beating frantically, and he briefly brings it closer to himself, almost hugging it - but no, it’s not Yoruichi, even if it was her voice that spoke to him. It can’t be. It can’t.

He takes stock of himself.

He feels better now, certainly.

Not strong, not healthy, but the world no longer imitates a ship caught in a storm, and his body isn’t moments away from failing completely. His thinking is… clearer, and the prior thoughts, prayers, seem almost absurd in their desperation.

A man of reason, so desperate as to hope a rumour would turn real just for him.

And yet, he cannot deny that the hope paid off.

There are runes on the shrine, and he picks them up. 

His lips are still split, still bleeding. Absentmindedly, he runs a thumb along the lower lip, a couple drops of blood catching, and then smears the blood across the runes. They shiver, and _dissolve_ , sinking into his skin, into his very bones, where he feels them, prickling and electrical.

Fascinating.

He’s alive, right now, and not in immediate danger of dying.

But he still needs food, still needs water, and he _needs_ a way to find them, even with a blurred vision and no lantern to light his way through the dark houses.

The power in his veins shivers, and races up, until it settles in his eyes, and fades.

There’s no difference in vision.

He flexes his Marked hand, and there’s a silent word that escapes his mouth without his volition, and the world dyes itself _blue_ , shadows and lights both fading to leave everything _visible._

 _Everything_.

He can almost see through the walls, the floors, the ceiling, and he can see shining white objects everywhere. Some of them look to be tins, some look to be coins, others are items that he can’t recognise from outline alone.

“Thank you,” he signs.

There’s a limit to the range, that’s obvious- but it will make searching for food so much easier.

And if it shows items that can be of use to him...

Well, that will likely come in quite handy later.


	2. Chapter 2

Apparently, the newfound Vision ability doesn’t differentiate between spoiled and fresh food, highlighting both, which he discovers by absently biting into a tyvian pear, and _nearly_ throwing up from the taste and slimy texture. Nearly, because he eats it anyway.

After Coldrige’s slop almost everything tastes better than it used to, even when rotten. 

And thanks to two daily doses of Unohana’s elixir, his taste buds are pretty much annihilated anyway.

Everything tastes _incredibly disgusting_.

And it’s really not like he can be much sicker than he already is - rotten food would probably not make much of a difference at this stage.

He moves out of his first hideaway – with the Flickering, he has more options for a secure location. The place is two streets away, and not _quite_ facing the river.

No chance for lights at night, true, unless he can board up the windows, but the doorway to the apartment itself is bricked in, and the only way in or out is by Flickering through an open window from the roof of the opposing building.

Tins of food and piles of surplus elixirs go there, along with whatever un-decayed clothing, covers, and newspapers he can find.

In the months of his imprisonment, the plague has not been kind to the city, and neither has the new Lord Regent.

He glances at one of the older newspapers.

_By order of the Lord Regent, all citizens of good health are to vacate the Old Port District via the City Watch Checkpoints. Starting from next week, there will be no access to and from the district, apart from rail cars used for corpse transport and the supervising staff._

_All citizens that remain in the Old Port District, or that will not be able to pass the quarantine checkpoint, will not be able to depart post that date._

No wonder there’s no one here, apart from the few Weepers he’s watched from the roofs above.

And the rats, of course, although they are happy to leave him alone. Even the swarms of plague rats.

Apparently, not even _vermin_ will stoop to consuming plague-riddled flesh.

Well. Their docility is not an issue for him.

Cooked over a fire, rat skewers are perfectly edible. Or even raw, they’re not _that_ awful. 

He still hasn’t made use of the Heart, storing it in... he’s not sure exactly where it goes upon leaving his hand, but he thinks it’s the Void it goes to, when he flicks his hand in a certain way, the Mark igniting on his hand.

He can put away relatively small, light items, too – coins and precious jewels and materials that he finds upon raiding the abandoned houses, flicking them out of his hand and into nothingness. Food, sadly goes... bad, if he does that with it, or simply vanishes, and weapons break - things like grenades doing so in _very_ creative ways, but everything else is fine, and one or two satchels are an acceptable burden to carry. (He has an idle suspicion that the Outsider might be taking the food and playing with the weapons.)

He will likely need more runes, eventually – his powers are not _useless_ as they are, per se, but to match the assassins that had killed Yoruichi… He will need more, if he is to retrieve the young empress.

But he will not use the cursed object until he absolutely must.

The evening is murky, fog creeping from the river, moon hidden by clouds, sun almost set.

He Flickers across rooftops, to where the Port District borders the still-inhabited city. 

Hopefully, there will be a way around the quarantine walls, or maybe under them, through the sewers.

Movement on the street below catches his eye, and he freezes.

He’s looking down at a pub. In the gloom, he can’t make out the name written on the signs, but from its location adjacent to the river... he thinks he _might_ know the place. Hound Pits Pub, as famous for the drinks as the illegal hound fights.

He’s not sure if it’s the darkness that hides the name on the sign, or the disease robbing him of his vision.

Isn’t that a pleasant thought.

There’re lights in the pub’s windows. That is… interesting. A building not abandoned in spite of the quarantine.

He watches the moving figures. Two people conversing, standing between the pub and a small building adjacent to it - a workshop or brewery or some such.

They do not seem to be stooped or hunched, and neither is throwing up. Not Weepers. Survivors? Squatters? Smugglers?

There’s a small boat on the nearby shore, tethered to a post on the street.

These people are certainly not _trapped_ here then. Not by the quarantine, at least.

He can’t hear the conversation, not from here, but the pub’s roof is too far to Flicker to.

He pulls the hood over his head. 

Perhaps they have not seen wanted posters, if those have been put up around the city already. They might not recognise him, even if they do see him.

No. He will not risk it.

He Flickers to the top of a lamp post, waits, then goes down to the ground, as close to the pub as he can, and then Flickers to the overhang over the pub’s entrance, and then up again, to the roof, the brief bursts of gold in his vision and the disorientation familiar to him now.

He walks over to the edge closest to the talking people, and crouches down, listening.

The place is empty, and the words echo- but not quite enough to be audible. 

He Flickers to the top of the unknown building adjacent, which is just low enough that he can eavesdrop with ease.

“It’s been over a week since he escaped. But the Watch hasn’t found him. Where do you think he is?” A woman’s voice, relatively young, tired but coherent. 

He peeks over the edge. A servant, judging from her maid outfit, talking to a young man in work clothes.

“Well, I certainly hope he isn’t dead. But it is not unlikely that he has gasped out his last breaths in the sewers. Or tried to swim across and drowned.” The second speaker is a short man, his voice hoarse and rough - but not _old_. Mid twenties, if Kisuke has to hazard a guess.

“Do you think Admiral Kyouraku will dismiss you if there will be no need of your translation services, or your weapons crafting? If Urahara isn’t found by us, I mean.”

Kyouraku… a Serkonan-born Admiral in the Navy, but born of minor Morleyan nobles. He… is not sure if he has met the man personally, but Yoruichi had spoken well of him.

“Perhaps. It would not do to _dismiss_ all hope that Urahara is still among the living. Samuel had found an abandoned boat on the shore of the Flooded District. Could have been Urahara’s. Could be that he is on this side of the river, now.”

The man mentioned Samuel, a boatman – how many Samuel the Boatmans could there be? And certainly...

But his thoughts are broken off by the conversation resuming.

“What, you mean he could be hearing us right now, if he isn’t dead?”

“Nothing is strictly impossible, although it can certainly be unlikely.” The derision in his voice is clear, and the woman huffs.

Kisuke almost chokes on a silent giggle.

“Do you think he killed her? The Empress?” she asks, eventually.

“Perhaps. But her death was certainly _convenient_ for the Lord Regent, who has made policies to deal with the plague that Empress Shihouin would _never_ have approved of.”

“I don’t know what to think. Obviously, Master Pendleton think so, since he and the others tried to break him out. Not that it was needed, as it turns out.”

Kisuke considers.

This could all well be an elaborate trap of some sort. Quite possibly.

It could also _not_ be a trap. 

But if it is a trap, there would be no way to discern it; they would be acting like this constantly, on the assumption he could be watching them at any moment.

He twitches his fingers, and blue washes over everything.

There’s no one else in the building he is on, but vague shapes move around in the pub – in the bar section, if he is correct, which is not _unreasonable_ considering it is time for the last meal of the day.

He has a sword.

The duo beneath are unarmed, and there are no weapons or traps in sight.

He can Flicker away like a phantom if need be.

There’s a convenient shadowed area between the building and the edge of the water, and he Flickers down.

He hasn’t seen himself in the mirror for a while, has no idea what he looks like. Thankfully, this is not the court, and that won’t matter, as long as he is _recognisable,_ if perhaps not particularly presentable.

As long as he doesn’t look too obviously sick with the plague, frankly, he doesn’t care.

Back straight, head level, movements purposeful, neutral expression, and hopefully everything else will just look like exhaustion.

Stepping out of the shadows, he makes sure to make noise as he walks forwards, sparing a glance at the open gate-door of what appears to be a workshop.

It doesn’t take long for the two speakers to notice him.

The woman startles back, heading for the pub door, and the man tenses.

“Who are you?” the woman asks loudly.

He pushes his hood back, shakes his head to let the unkempt hair fall around his face. He holds out the folded sword for inspection – if it is made by the short man (who, from ground level, apparently is so short his head barely reaches Kisuke’s chin), he should be able to recognise it.

The man stares intently at the sword, and then looks up, eyes wide. 

“Urahara?”

He inclines his head.

The woman gasps, and then bows, before rushing off through the door behind her.

No doubt to either raise the alarm and bring down guards upon him, or fetch the conspirators that wanted to break him out of prison.

He puts the sword back on his belt again, and waits, as the man scrutinises him intently, silently. Judging.

At long last, he speaks. “My name is Kurotsuchi. I will be translating for you, since none of the others are versed in signs.

The pub door opens, creaking, and the men that emerge from the pub are familiar by sight, at least.

A white-haired Morleyan, and a Serkonan. A pair familiar to him from all the rumours in the court about what the Serkonan Admiral Kyouraku and the esteemed member of Parliament Ukitake do in their spare time together.

There’s another Admiral, Gristolean, whose name Kisuke doesn’t recall. From up close he looks- unnerving, pale, cold eyes like a shark’s.

The unknown Admiral steps forward, apparently the chosen speaker for the group.

Kisuke feels slightly uncomfortable, scrutinised by the silent group of conspirators. Like he isn’t meeting some unspoken expectation.

What do they think Coldridge is, a sanatorium of some sort?

Perhaps he is too much of an _unknown_ to them, a wild card. He has no debt to them, after all, and no one is sure _how_ he escaped. And he looks a right mess, anyway.

Belatedly, he checks to make sure the fingerless glove on his left hand covers the Mark. Being a heretic might not endear him to them much.

“We are pleased that you have successfully found your way to us, Lord Protector. We were concerned when you broke out just a few hours earlier than had been arranged.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Kurotsuchi immediately translates as he signs, tone much more neutral than earlier. Expressionless. “I apologise that I could not delay saving my own life.”

“Well, it has worked out well enough, even with the delay - and certainly demonstrates quite the skill. I am Admiral Havelock. Me and my associates here are the Loyalists – loyal to the old empress, and not the Lord Regent that has staged this _coup_ , and kidnapped the rightful heir to the throne. Sadly, General Yamamoto, Lord Pendleton, and Overseer Teague are currently elsewhere on business, and cannot greet you today.”

A powerful alliance, with a finger in every pie. And one where all the members are most likely interested in their own interests and not just the greater cause.

“With your talents, and our knowledge and connections, it should be simple enough to get rid of the Regent’s supporters, and put the rightful empress on the throne,” Ukitake says quietly.

A partnership; he gets missions and objectives instead of wandering aimlessly, and they get a weapon.

“Do you already have any knowledge of where-“ the interpreter pauses until Kisuke thinks to sign _the heir_ , instead of Emily’s name, “the heir to the throne is?”

“Not as of yet, no. However, we know that Reginald Graves, the head of the City Watch, may have clues as to her whereabouts. Perhaps you could discreetly access his house and office to investigate?”

Straight to the point. They want to see whether Coldridge was just dumb luck, bribery, or actual skill. He can appreciate the straightforwardness, and the caution.

Investigating a guarded house. Simple enough.

“Certainly. How do I get there?”

“Samuel will bring you across the river, and wait for you. It is best to go tomorrow night, when he is not at home.” Admiral Kyouraku says, his eyes focused on Kisuke with interest.

He considers. To give in, or make a bit of a stand?

No, no point in fighting or arguing.

“Tomorrow night is fine.”

“Our local inventor has some gear that you can test out tomorrow. And, of course, you can stay here for the night – we have a room in the attic set up for you.”

He does not trust them enough to sleep here – and besides, he is likely contagious. Best not to risk infecting any of the staff who are likely to clean the place.

“I would not want to impose. I have my own place to stay at.”

The Loyalists look bemused, but not surprised.

“You can stay wherever suits you, of course. Now, Mayuri, go show him what you have made for him.”

Kurotsuchi nods, and motions to Kisuke to follow him into the workshop.

The Loyalists take their leave, going back to their meal most likely, Kyouraku still throwing curious glances at him.

In the light of the workshop, Mayuri’s hair is a startling, vibrant blue, and from this close, Kisuke sees his unnatural bright yellow eyes. Gold, almost. The kind that isn’t native to the Isles.

“ _Are you from Pandyssia?”_ he asks, when Mayuri turns to him after picking something off the workshop table.

He’s heard so much, but, of course, he could never go to see the place in person. Not with his vacation-lacking job. Perhaps, one day, if he… no, he’s unlikely to survive to retirement, is he?

Mayuri looks slightly irritated.

“No,” he says curtly.

Kisuke winces.

“ _My apologies. I was merely curious.”_

“No matter. Here, put this on. The Loyalists have requested that I make a mask for you – with the plague, masks are not entirely uncommon on the streets, and while suspicious, at least it will not clearly communicate that you are the infamous former Lord Protector.”

Kisuke looks closer at what is being offered to him.

The mask is… certainly _something._. 

Styled after a cat skull (a nod to the Empress’ favourite animal?), it is made of a dark metal. The are large glass lenses over the eyes - likely offering magnification capabilities, and there seems to be some inbuilt filtration system.

Something about the _style_ looks vaguely familiar, but he can’t place it.

The lenses of the mask have not been adjusted yet, and everything turns blurry and distorted when he puts the mask on. Kurotsuchi reaches for his face to begin adjusting them. 

Kisuke can’t stop himself stumbling backwards, out of reach. It’s only because he doesn’t want to infect his new ally, he tells himself, nothing more, and ignores the way terror's grip on his heart makes it beat too fast. The way it makes his hands shake. The way it makes him want to Flicker away, or perhaps draw his sword for comfort. (As long as he has a weapon, he's safe. It might be months since he's fought, been the unparalleled swordsman, but the Mark gives him strength, and with a weapon in hand _no one can touch him now_.)

Kurotsuchi does not approach, does not move so much as a muscle, and Kisuke carefully reaches for the lenses himself, blindly turning and adjusting what he can until the world is crystal clear again.

Clearer, even, the lenses now compensating for the blurriness in his vision.

“Is it comfortable?” Kurotsuchi asks, as though nothing happened. Kisuke appreciates that.

“ _Yes,_ ” Kisuke signs, because it is. It’s almost like it has been made exactly for him, somehow, even if Kurotsuchi was unlikely to have even _seen_ him, let alone get a plaster model of his face.

“Are the sword and crossbow?”

“ _Balance is good. The folding is convenient. It certainly works for killing rats. The crossbow works.”_

“Excellent. If you provide me with materials, I will be happy to upgrade them, and any other equipment. Also, if you see anything valuable around – bring it to me. I have _connections_ , and the money will make certain acquisitions much easier.”

Well, he’ll have to make sure to drop off all his collected finds of value tomorrow, where Kurotsuchi can’t see him pulling things out of thin air.

“ _I will bring some things by tomorrow morning. Is this all for now?_ ”

Kurotsuchi retrieves some items from a table.

“Feel free to test these grenades and springtraps out sometime,” he says, handing them over.

They’re small enough to go in the belt pouches, which is convenient - although, of course, they were likely designed to do that.

“ _Thank you,”_ Kisuke signs.

Kurotsuchi shrugs, and turns away, signalling the end of the conversation.

Kisuke leaves the same way he came, making sure that no one sees him leave.

Best to keep the Mark a secret for now.

He is back on the roof of the Hound Pits Pub by late afternoon of the next day, the Heart clutched thoughtfully in one hand, beating slowly. He’s handed over a sack of his more interesting scavenged acquisitions, jewels and pearl fans and pieces of Tyvian ore, and received a small pile of coins in return, to exchange for equipment upgrades at his leisure.

He moves the Heart around, feeling the rhythm of the object change as it points in different directions. Sometimes it speeds up, sometimes it goes utterly still, inanimate.

Like a twisted version of the game of hot-cold.

He follows the beat.

The first object he finds is a rune, hidden underwater, possibly dropped from the half-built, half-broken attempt at building a bridge across the river. Or tossed away in an attempt to lose it and never see it again. Hagfish swim in the water, and he has to pull the rune out quickly, one of the nasty blighters trying to sink its teeth into his fingers for a quick meal.

The next thing is a bonecharm on a nearby roof, which he clips to the inside of his coat. Sailors say they bring good luck; perhaps, for him, they’ll do something more.

The Heart doesn’t react to anything else - nothing in range, perhaps, other than the object in the sewer. And Kisuke has frankly no interest in returning there any time soon if he can help it - besides, he’d need a key to get there, and he’d rather not have to pantomime out what he needs to one of the servants scurrying around.

He’ll get it… some other time.

Vision and Flicker are enough for now, anyway.

Speaking of… He frowns as he glances through the pub’s walls. He can see tantalising outlines of objects inside, food, money, items. But he can’t go inside, not with the risk of contaminating something or other and bringing down the whole conspiracy with the plague.

He returns to perching atop the roof once he’s sure there’s nothing more interesting to find – or any conversations on which he can eavesdrop through a balcony or some such. Only Havelock and the servants are around, anyway – everyone else is _away_. On what business, he doesn’t know – although, perhaps it’s just their day jobs. Not everyone here is an escaped convict, after all.

The sun goes down slowly, tinting the sky red and gold before plunging the city into the darkness of night.

From his perch, he can see a small boat approaching the shoreline, and docking, two figures inside.

Kisuke Flickers down to the space between the workshop and the pub, and then walks out, like he’s just arrived on foot from wherever he’s been holed up.

From closer up, he can see that the arrivals are Admiral Kyouraku, disembarking from the boat, and an unfamiliar old man that stays in it – Gristolean. Probably Samuel.

Kyouraku laughs good-naturedly when he sees Kisuke. “My, my, can’t wait to get started, Kisuke?” 

He doesn’t quite like the easy familiarity with the way his name is used, but he puts the discomfort aside. His fingers twitch, ready to reply, when he remembers that there’s no one around to understand or translate. He nods instead.

“That mask really is a fright. Mayuri has done a very good job indeed. Samuel knows where to take you – be back before sun-up, if you can. The river patrols are getting antsy.”

Kisuke carefully steps into the boat, and sits down on the edge of a bench.

The boat rocks slightly, even from his slight weight.

“Good evenin’, Lord Protector. Name’s Samuel, although I reckon you know that already. Ready to go?” 

The man doesn’t seem to be much discomforted by the sight of him, smiling despite the apparently dreadful sight of the mask. But then, an old sailor like him has likely seen more terrifying things, out at sea.

Kisuke nods.

The journey across the river is silent, save the quiet humming of the motor – Samuel doesn’t seem to have much to say to him, and Kisuke obviously can’t start up a conversation himself.

The boat arrives at the other edge of the river, docking at the Estate District by a rocky shore where a staircase leads up to the main street. A small trash fire burns by the wall, some rat skewers roasting slowly.

“Me an’ the Amaranth will be waiting for you right here – take however much time you need, sir. The guard’s house is a bit of a way in, on High Tide Street, but I reckon this won’t be too hard for someone like you.”

Kisuke nods his thanks, and climbs out of the boat.

“Oh, and watch out for the guards – guess you wouldn’t know, what with Coldridge, but there’s a tight curfew around now. Might not be too many around, here - but they’ll still shoot you on sight.”

Another nod, and Kisuke lets the world fade into blue.

There’s no guards in the _immediate_ vicinity – of course, they wouldn’t have docked where they’d be immediately spotted.

He climbs the staircase cautiously, ready to Flicker to the top of the tall lamppost right by the top of the stairs the moment he gets in range.

It’s a useful perch, letting him scan the way ahead of him with ease.

He doesn’t know this exact section of the city too well – finding a regional map could be useful, but he will likely not go wrong by following the street perpendicular to the riverside. There’s two guards stationed in the middle of the street further on, in front of an official-looking building, another patrolling the length of it, but no clear _outpost_.

Regardless, he chooses to go to the balcony across from him, then go to one higher, then to the roof, rather than test his skills by sneaking past the guards.

The less he is seen, the better.

He walks across the sloped roofs, Flickering onwards when his strength returns, peering over the edge every once in a while to check street signs.

The streets are eerily silent, with the exception of faint conversations from the guards – all along the lines of plans for later, or complaints about where they’re stationed. Nothing useful, so far.

The district isn’t deserted – but there is no night life, no late workers going home, no night-shifters going to work, no drunken partiers common to the off-days. The curfew permits none of that.

He pauses at a crossroads later on, where the street splits.

Neither of the street signs indicate that they’re the correct street.

The Heart is meant to guide him, is it not?

He flicks his wrist, and it appears in his hand, warm, beating, and as he curiously waves his arm around, he’s surprised by how many charms and runes seem to be in the area. Heretical artefacts are illegal, unless there has been a massive change to the Abbey. Have the people always been this defiant? The nobles, of course, have never been much for obedience, but the rest…

He squeezes the Heart gently, unwilling to damage the frail construct by accident.

“ _The city is dying. The nobles are partying like there is no tomorrow. Perhaps, for some, there is not.”_

He tries again.

“ _The guard are afraid. And they cause more fear.”_

Well, perhaps it is simply not meant to be used as a _talking map_. 

He decides to go straight ahead, where the Heart indicates several heretical artefacts lie, one of them on a chimney of the next house - another bonecharm as it turns out, this one three-pronged, curiously enough.

Neither of the two other guarded houses that he sees are on the right street, and cursory eavesdropping on the guards revealed that they’re simply owned by either the nobles, or the State.

Perhaps he should have asked for more of a description of the house, or a specific map – although if this is all a test of his abilities, he wouldn’t have gotten one anyway.

The Clocktower has chimed once already, indicating that he’s been trawling the streets for close to twenty minutes, without much to show for it other than that charm, a rune plucked from another roof, and two handfuls of kingsparrow feathers.

Finally, he comes to a crossroads to see _High Tide Street_ printed on a street sign.

He’s instantly far more alert than he was a moment ago, far more _careful_.

He prowls along the very edge of the roof keeping an eye for guards on the street, or the tell-tale signs of someone watching the streets from the windows.

A few minutes later, he realises he needn’t have bothered.

The large house has balconies on every floor sans the ground one, a front that’s evidently been recently cleaned. Two guards are stationed at the front door, and three patrolling the street. Looking around, he can see an outpost established on the wide street.

There is no way one could have missed it, even if he had not been paying attention.

And, most unfortunately, there is a guard standing on the highest balcony, overlooking the street – the roof across from him plainly in his line of sight, as well as all the nearest lampposts. Even in the darkness, he will _see_ a would-be intruder.

Kisuke _could_ kill him, of course, with a crossbow bolt straight through an eye, or knock him out with a dart… but the goal is to leave no sign of his presence. Leaving a corpse behind him would be a poor decision - and an unconscious body would only be slightly better.

He crouches, still and silent on the edge of the roof, observing the guards.

The only way into the house is via the balconies, or the front door. All of them except the top balcony are likely locked, and would need a key – although, of course, he has a handful of pins to try to pick a lock with.

Trying to pick the front door would be a ridiculous way to get inside, if he wants to stay unseen.

Well. The guard at the top would obviously notice if Kisuke were to Flicker right behind his back and slip through the door – no guarantee that it won’t creak, nevermind any light that would spill out, any warm air.

He backtracks across the roofs until he can find a way to cross to the other side via lamp posts without being seen, and then approaches the house on the correct side, perching on the edge, almost above the guard leaning on the balcony, smoking a cigar.

Flickering to somewhere he can’t see is _hard_. He concentrates on how the balcony had looked from the other side, until the golden circle and the lines leading to it drop out of sight, curling around the edge of the balcony, visible to no one but himself.

He lands lightly, catching his breath, and dropping into a crouch.

No need for a guard to see him if they look up from across the street.

Vision once again engaged, he turns to look inside the house. There’s no one nearby on this floor, although it may be possible there is a guard or two around – or a servant, cleaning the house in the owner’s absence.

Does the man have a wife, or children?

That might complicate matters some.

The door is indeed locked, but it is far from the most complicated thing Kisuke has ever picked.

Looking for issues with the former Emperor’s own private room’s lock was much more of a challenge.

Inside, the house is… much like any rich man’s house in Dunwall, as far as Kisuke can judge these matters.

Clean carpets, wooden panelling, decorative paintings – he emerged in something like a sitting room, with plenty of bookshelves and display cases full of weapons, the fire in the grate gone out, the lights switched off.

He finds the office on the floor below, and flips a switch to light up the room. The drawn curtains ought to be heavy enough to hide the light – and regardless, looking through the papers in the dark would be utterly pointless.

There are neat stacks of paper on the desk – copies of reports and maps brought from the main office, most likely. Reports on weeper extermination assignments, on houses locked down, statistics on the number of curfew-breakers found, thieves found plundering abandoned houses…

Kisuke is careful to leave each stack exactly as he finds it, not a paper out of place or order. 

None of them are _relevant_ , none of them detail patrol numbers or special assignments.

There are a _great_ deal of reports on expenses on security, wages, new equipment... It looks like the Lord Regent must really have re-allocated nearly all the spare funds in the Royal Treasury to the City Watch.

Most likely, more details on that are in the headquarters, not here.

But if there is something interesting, or _incriminating_ about the City Watch captain, he will find it in his house, not in the headquarters.

He still makes sure to go through the contents of the entire desk, even the drawers, checking for hidden compartments after examining the papers.

There’s reports on the numbers of new recruits, of fatalities, of desertions – but few mentions of postings that do not relate specifically to night patrols and curfew enforcement.

Surely, the guard would be upped all day and all night for anyone in the Lord Regent’s favour…

He memorises the numbers regardless, to jot them down later just in case they will reveal something useful.

Without the desk, he is left with the bookshelves full of old reports, and newspapers – many of those detailing something or other about the Watch, or the man’s own personal career.

Without thinking much, he flicks his wrist – and the Heart is in his hand again, thrumming eagerly from the proximity to a heretical object.

Even here? 

The Heart indicates that the object is in a neighbouring room – except, Kisuke is certain that he saw no door on the landing outside that could lead to a space on this side of the room.

A hidden storage area, if the Overseers would ever decide to call?

With the Vision, he can see through the wall – there’s a stash of money and assorted valuable objects, and a bonecharm, right behind the bookshelf. Which implies there is a trigger to move the shelf somewhere nearby.

None of the books, folders, or reports are it, however – not that he necessarily expected it to be quite so easy to find. He turns to the walls, instead, and looks carefully at framed reports and paintings.

One of them has the paper and glass a slight deal more off the wall than it ought to be, the backing of the frame thicker than its compatriots. 

He takes it off the wall, setting it face down on the desk – and sure enough, there is a button there, neatly concealed behind a framed notice of promotion to Head of the City Watch. It looks just like the light switch – an easy thing to laugh off if the frame would be to removed: an oddly placed light switch that has to be hidden, or perhaps defunct, and now just defacing the wall.

He presses on it.

There is a soft mechanical groan, and then the bookshelf slides to the side – just a few handspans to the side, revealing an indent in the wall with hidden shelves.

There’s pouches of gold, a bonecharm, a tiny stack of gold ingots, some rather expensive-looking charms and carvings, several unmarked journals, and several stacks of letters.

He starts with the letters.

_My dear Sir Graves,_

_I have been having some troubles with a gang lately. Would you be so kind as to assign some of your guards to my house for three nights to prevent any young hoodlums from bothering me?_

_Yours truly,_

_Lady Wrensdale_

Beneath, in red is marked _payment: 600, squad E.L.M. assigned to Clavering Boulevard 47_.

The City Watch looks over almost all areas equally, _supposedly_ , with more guards stationed at ports, markets, the Abbey, and State buildings for obvious reasons.

And, certainly, areas with more reported crimes would get combed through every once in a while, and people of interest in cases of gang wars would get more protection.

Hiring the Watch as bodyguards, instead of reporting _crimes_ is… not necessarily quite illegal, per se, but certainly enough to be _interesting_.

The dates on the letters have been scratched out, unfortunately, but Kisuke continues glancing through them, looking for patterns.

They are few and far between, interestingly.

Other letters crop up, too – 

_My dear Sir Graves,_

_My cousin got in trouble, and I’d like to give you a little gift to apologise-_

_My dear Sir Graves,_

_I’d like to gift you this Pandyssian bonecarving, if you would perhaps have your friends take a glance at my uncle’s financials-_

_My dear Sir Graves-_

The man took enough bribes to pay for a seat on the Parliament – the question, then, was where the money _went_. 

Paying his more corrupt men an extra dime for their services, most likely, and the rest… stored for a rainy day?

Or spent on some very expensive service. On a vice, perhaps – expensive food, gambling, the best of the Golden Cat.

A thought occurs to him.

Careful to remember the order of letters, he searches through the pack, looking for the name that had shown up the most – Kugo Ginjo, requesting guards for number eleven of Hagford Street, by Wavering Avenue, with a note of _Payment Attached To Letter,_ and holds up the blotted out dates right against the light – and sure enough, he can vaguely make out the hidden dates.

And then he checks the rest of the letters.

Ginjo started requesting the guards a mere couple of weeks after Kisuke’s _unfortunate arrest_ . And he is the only one who kept up the requests for more than just a couple of weeks. In fact, he is _still_ paying, despite having started over six months ago. Just after Kisuke’s arrest.

Odd – too odd to just be a _coincidence_. After all, you’d think in that time, whatever his troubles are, they’d be sorted out by now, wouldn’t they?

He glances at the clock on the table.

He still has a while left to go through the books.

One of them are just names, addresses, payments – repeats of everything in the letters, with the names shortened or changed, and sans the regular Ginjo payments.

Another is a list of expenses – noted down in code, but those are not likely to be relevant.

The others are journals written in code – not something he can crack in a pinch, and he can’t take them, not if his visit is to stay unknown.

But the one lead he does have is- promising.

He returns the books and letters to where they had been previously, lets the bookcase slide back into place, replaces the painting, and slips out of the room, using the lockpicks to lock the door behind him.

There is nothing else of note in the house, other than the maid in the kitchen that he avoids. He slips up the staircase, checking that the guard is on the top balcony again. 

He is.

That is... unfortunate. Getting to the roof from the balcony will likely be harder than getting from the roof to the balcony. He locks the balcony door, too.

Wouldn’t do to leave any traces.

He has to climb on to the very edge of the balcony, and then- he has a thought.

With his Vision, he can see that the guard almost looks like he is _dozing._

If he acts fast enough…

Instead of Flickering to the roof, he Flickers up instead, to the very edge of the balcony that is right up against the wall, out of sight of the guard, before immediately going higher to the roof, and shimmying behind a chimney just as he hears a startled “Huh? What happened?”, his heart hammering in his chest.

The displacement isn’t silent then – not as silent as he was hoping. Or maybe there’s a flash of light accompanying it.

Not that he has any way to check, exactly, not unless he wants to reveal his powers to someone.

He heads back to where the boat is docked.

“Got what you need, Lord Protector?” Samuel asks him when he approaches the boat. “Ready to go?”

Kisuke shrugs, then nods. He got what he could from the house, he’s fairly sure.

It is... strange, how easy this mission was, but then with teleportation and seeing through walls, he has a _marked_ advantage over anyone else trying to break in to a guarded house.

He retrieves a tiny pad of paper and a pen from one of the pockets of his coat, and starts to jot down all the details he can remember from the papers he had seen, and especially the details of the bribes. As well as who the most frequent customers are.

No one is _breathlessly_ _waiting_ for them at the pier, exactly, when they get back an hour before dawn, and Kisuke has to reluctantly walk up to the pub door and _knock,_ hoping someone is up.

A short while later, the door swings open to show one of the servants. A woman - Lydia, he thinks, but he’s not certain. She gasps at the sight of him, before rushing off to fetch the men in charge.

The Admirals look satisfied that he is back in one piece, at least, when they walk through the door.

“Got anything useful, Lord Protector?” Kyouraku asks him, and Kisuke holds out the pad of paper.

Hopefully everyone there drinks enough elixir that, in the unlikely case the paper is contaminated with a fleck of blood or some such, no one will catch the plague from it.

“Did anyone see you? Does anyone know you were there?”

Kisuke shakes his head.

“Well done. We will cross-reference this list with people who have been backing the Lord Regent’s policies – and oh, Ginjo is an obvious candidate here, yes, but we must not discount other possibilities.”

Kisuke frowns under the Mask.

They don’t have time to waste, not really. But they do have a point, and wasting time and energy on going after the wrong man...

And he is not in charge here, he knows. They are the ones who know more, who have the resources, and they will be the ones to call the shots here.

It’s not like he can threaten Samuel to take him across the river; well, he can. But then he’ll lose these allies - and Void knows where he’ll keep the Lady when he gets her safe, or how he’ll provide food for her.

He just has to wait, now. That’s all.

There’s no point in _not_ drifting around the pub during the day, not when he has nothing to do and nowhere to go – nowhere that he could reach on his own, at least, even with supernatural abilities in play.

The nearest runes and bonecharms in the surrounding area do not take long to collect – the area is devoid of weepers, and with little food or bodies to feast on, rats are rarer occurrences than in most places.

The Heart is certainly proving itself useful to him, the steady thumping leading him to the collapsed rooms and hidden alcoves and even a shrine on a rooftop, fabric damp and falling apart from constant exposure to the elements.

He can almost tolerate it.

The voice still _hurts_ to hear, still causes more pain than he is getting used to expecting – but he uses it regardless, for there is one power that fascinates him more than the object repels him.

‘ _He was expelled from the academy, an experiment went wrong, a sabotage by the envious,’_ the Heart whispers when he points it at Kurotsuchi by accident, trying to discern if there was anything worthwhile in the sewers beneath the pub.

‘ _Few care for kind words from him or for him, so he offers none in return,’_ it whispers a minute later, after he tries to ask again and again. _‘He could be most cruel, perhaps, given motive, opportunity. He has neither. And most people can be cruel.’_

It is certainly a useful way of gathering information, at least, even if most of it is about personalities, rather than decisions; the Heart speaks of the distant past more often than not, rather than the present events.

The servants are around because they are personal, trusted acquaintances of Lord Pendleton – trusted to not rat out the wanted criminal they are employing.

The Loyalists… their motivations vary, some more noble - like Yamamoto’s desire to restore order - and some more selfish - Pendleton stands to gain personally from the Regent’s fall. None of them are relevant to Kisuke, because, after all, they are all striving to achieve the same goal.

Kisuke breaks a leg with a mistimed Flicker, not Flickering far enough, high enough, to grab the ledge, and falling down, bone breaking with a sickening crack. 

Tears streaming from his eyes, he desperately retrieves a red vial, hoping it will at least _numb_ the pain.

The bones snaps into place, shifting agonisingly, until suddenly the pain fades, like the injury was never there. The cuts and scrapes on his hands are gone too.

Seems like the Mark still has some surprises left for him, then.

The illness is still there inside him, however. He can feel it with every ragged cough. The fatigue and dizziness that come every time he tries to run too long or move to fast.

The healing isn’t all-powerful.

Still, it’s better than nothing. Especially as long as he is not dying.

Knowing the basic information about the Loyalists doesn’t stop Kisuke from asking the Heart for more, however. The secrets are… interesting, enough. And the conversations he overhears more so, because the months have left him starved for news of any kind - the gossip about nobility, the rumours about himself, the state of the city. It makes no difference to him, as long as it’s _something_ other than silence.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Always happy to hear from you, my dear readers! Reviews make my day. Week, even!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we start getting both the alternate timeline versions and the glimpses of High Chaos possibilities - which have canon-typical gore and violence for Dishonored, so be warned. It gets... dark, and Kisuke's quite the unreliable narrator in terms of being far less stable than he thinks he is.  
> Enjoy!

It is evening, several days after the reconnaissance mission, when Havelock drops by the pub with grim news for them all. Kisuke stands in the doorway, unwilling to contaminate the communal dining area with his presence, and listens.

“Somehow, the Overseers have found out that Martin helped arrange the _unneeded_ help for your escape, and are currently detaining him for questioning, and then for his execution,” Havelock states, pouring himself a glass of whiskey at the bar. 

Losing the only man they have in the Abbey will complicate matters - and the only one of the Loyalists Kisuke has not yet met, too busy to ever drop by long enough.

“We need his connections and position, if we are to decrease the quantity of guards around the Lord Regent’s supporters, and succeed in gaining control of the city.”

“ _Where is he?”_ Kisuke signs at Kurotsuchi, who translates for him.

There is only the slightest hint of derision when the Admiral’s eyes flicker to Kurotsuchi, and Kisuke hopes it’s merely the sawdust and metal shavings on his hands and clothes that irritate him, or perhaps some hidden _banality_ in the question.

“He’s held by Holger Square, right next to the High Overseer’s Office.”

Kisuke knows where that is quite well, even if he’s never been inside. Almost never. Certainly not on any _official_ business, royalty-requested reconnaissance and investigation notwithstanding.

It looked like a fortress then, and that was before the plague, before new security measures, and without needing to exactly break in. And certainly before he’d have been affected by any measures devised against heretics.

Holger square would be less of a problem than the actual office, however. _Far_ easier than breaking out of Coldridge prison, that’s certain.

“When do I depart?” Kurotsuchi translates, and makes little effort to hide the fact that he very clearly notices the disdainful glance.

“Immediately. We - and especially Martin - have no time to waste.”

“Understood.”

Havelock pauses, and scrutinises Kisuke carefully. “As you _may_ be aware, the current High Overseer, Tousen Kaname, is very closely allied with the Lord Regent.”

Yes. Kisuke is very, _very_ well acquainted with that fact.

“Since you will be in the area... perhaps it would be expedient to take the opportunity to eliminate him. If you have the time and consider it _feasible_ , of course.”

Kisuke is not surprised by the request. They did want an assassin, after all - between them, the Conspiracy can stall the Regent’s decisions and sabotage his efforts, but they can’t eliminate his supporters.

He can. Possibly.

“I will see what can be done.”

Havelock smiles, but it doesn’t reach his tiny, shark-like eyes. Cold, and hungry for blood. “Good luck to you then.”

Kisuke considers his options, fingers absently tapping on the sword hilt. What will he need for tonight?

Grenades, springtraps, exploding bolts, the gun - those weapons are _loud_ , and dead or unconscious bodies attract almost as much attention on their own anyway. Almost always. 

But his primary mission is extraction, not elimination or combat - he will need to be quiet and discreet, not raising a ruckus on every corner of the street.

And he would not plan on being seen and getting into skirmishes even if he was sent to kill.

Still... He has no idea what state the streets are in. There might be rats and Weepers to deal with in the district, and plans don’t survive first contact with the enemy anyway.

One or two grenades won’t go amiss, surely...

Kurotsuchi is happy to sell him a dozen sleep darts, crossbow bolts, and half that of exploding bolts, but looks almost disappointed that Kisuke doesn’t ask for more.

“Is that it?” he asks, pacing impatiently while Kisuke looks at the stockpiled weapons - and spies a pile of blue vials in a corner, a note with “ _Deliver and Distribute_ ” lying on top of the pile.

“ _Can I have five of those?”_

Kurotsuchi stops pacing, and blinks at him owlishly. “Why in the name of the Outsider would you need that many _remedies_? Unless you’ve somehow mistaken them for undistilled whale oil.”

“ _Your remedies?”_

“Yes, mine. I have a laboratory in the attic - they’re helping fund our cause, and stop the city from dying quite as quickly too, I suppose. Well, I suppose it is none of my business what you do with them, as long as you pay - hundred coins per vial, please.”

Steep price, but with the sold stolen items - he can afford these.

He should ask what’s in it, later. Which of the ingredients might be the one to restore magic, and where to get it in a purer form, perhaps.

“ _I shall see you later,”_ he signs, and leaves the workshop.

He doesn’t get quite halfway down the stairs to the shore, when someone approaches him from the back, reaching for his arm.

He steps out of the way, turning around to face the servant.

“Please, a minute of your time,” she says, sounding _desperate_.

She looks pale and tired, the shadows under her eyes deep and dark. He can’t recall her name - but is pretty sure she’s the one hired to look after the Lady. When she is brought here.

The servant takes a deep breath. 

“My uncle, Captain Geoff Curnow, is meeting with the High Overseer today. He’s one of the few Captains that isn’t corrupt or murderously cruel, these days.” 

Interesting, if true.

“There’s rumours that a vial of Pandyssian poison has been shipped to the city, and sold to the Abbey just yesterday. I fear that it is meant for him. Please, since you’ll be there… please save my Uncle.”

Kisuke nods in understanding. A straightforward request, if far from _simple_.

The servant brightens, smiling at him.

“Thank you. I will be eternally grateful if you manage it.”

He shrugs, and continues on his way.

He has no idea if he will - but, perhaps, this is useful information. If the poison is given at dinner or some such, he could always switch glasses and poison Tousen instead.

He’ll know more when - if - he gets there in time to do anything about it.

Samuel rambles about the history of the trade routes through the canal, something that doesn’t require much attention, but relaxes him nonetheless. Among other things, he really hadn’t known about the habit of butchers in the olden days to breed hagfish to get rid of unuseable remains, and then release them into the river when they got too numerous to be useful, and too old to be edible.

It is properly dark by the time they reach the other side, docking just by Clavering Boulevard, on a part of crumbled shore concealed by sewer piping extending from the walls and over the water, tall reeds and the night hiding the docked boat.

He tries to see if there are any guards patrolling nearby, eyes straining-

“…of course, that’s all changed now,” Samuel says, and Kisuke tunes back in, in case it’s useful. “You should know, Kisuke, that there’s a checkpoint set up between the boulevard here, and the street that takes you to the Abbey. There’s Unohana’s security inventions all around, too, so you gotta watch out for them.” 

Kisuke nods, and Samuel continues. “I heard there’s a woman living around here, Granny Rags, some kind of witch – over a hundred years old, they say, and a right proper heretic. Just one of many odd birds living on the fringes, I suppose - but they say she’s one to watch out for. She might know a way around, too.”

Well, he’s not going to go through every house looking for her - but yes, he supposes he can keep an eye out.

“Good luck, Kisuke, with whatever you decide to do. I’ll be waiting for you here, at least all the way to dawn. Not sure I’ll be able to stay here longer than that.”

He steps out of the boat, and walks along the wall, up to where a staircase leads to the main street.

There’s a guard at the water’s edge further nearby, pacing around the area - and more guard at the top of the stairs that he can hear. Kisuke waits for him to stop by the shore’s edge, looking over the water, and Flickers a fair distance past him, almost past the shadow cast by the wide bridge above him.

He freezes, as a faint thud sounds behind him, and spins around.

A corpse has been chucked on to a barge - and he hears, now, guards talking on the tall bridge above, the faint conversation drifting down to be amplified by the water.

“-reckon I saw that one move, just now.”

“Don’t be stupid, they’re all dead here.”

He relaxes. The two of them didn’t see him.

“Do you think any of them have anything worthwhile on them?“ asks a third voice. 

Three guards, then.

“Unless you want to end up on a barge _yourself_ , don’t even think of it! Besides, the corpse counters probably picked them clean, before we ever got the bodies.”

The conversation gets quieter as the guards retreat from the edge, and Kisuke moves on.

There’s a second set of stairs, pressed against the building at the end of the shore. Two civilians - a woman and a man - converse quietly nearby, and fall silent when they see him.

The woman shudders - at the sight of the mask, perhaps? - but does not react.

He’s _clearly_ not the sort of trouble that they want to deal with tonight, even when he snatches rolls of wire from a table when they turn away from him, to continue talking - now, even quieter.

He walks up the stairs, out of their line of sight, and Flickers to the top of a lamppost, getting a nice view of the checkpoint.

Several guards patrol the open space of the square, and the gate to the street to deeper parts of the city has been outfitted with… something that Kisuke thinks might be one of those Walls of Light, set to fry any unauthorized entity passing through the electrified arch.

The three guards he heard earlier are still dealing with the corpses, and the rest patrol the square - three of them, if he’s counting right.

If there’s a way around the checkpoint that means he doesn’t need to deal with them, he’ll take it.

Time to ask the Heart.

He pulls it out, letting it rest in his hand, as unnervingly warm as ever, but it’s voice thankfully silent.

He waves it around, feeling for the beating.

There’s something at the end of the bridge, something on the street beyond the checkpoint, something on the side street which he is turned away from, and then something further on along it.

He puts it away, and considers.

The bridge itself is poorly lit, even if the square isn’t, and he _could_ …

It seems like a foolish risk to take for just a piece of whalebone, almost, but it would be a good test of coordination and just how stealthy he can be, now.

There weren’t that many guards to dodge at the other mission, after all.

He Flickers to a lamppost right by the bridge, then down to the bridge to creep along the corpse cart standing on the inert rails, hides behind stacked boxes to avoid the guard walking around with a clipboard to count the corpses tossed into the barge. 

It feels almost too easy, really, and he empties the man’s money pouch when he’s right behind the guard.

The guard tenses, and then spins around, almost too fast for Kisuke to react, and Flicker to a ledge on the gate at the bridge’s end, hidden by the darkness and height.

“Hey! What was that?” the guard hisses, and looks around, his hand going for his pistol.

The other two stop what they are doing, and follow his example. “We might have a prowler on the loose. Check the area.”

Did he see Kisuke properly? Or just guessing?

Well, he’ll have to keep his head down for the next few minutes, at least, if he doesn’t want to alert them completely.

He Flickers up, and over the gate, until he can Flicker down to ground level again, at the very end of the broken-off bridge, standing behind the closed iron doorway.

He _thoroughly_ curses out his curiosity as he sees a corpse curled up on old blankets, with a bonecharm clasped in its hand - right next to a fire long gone out, and a store of spoiled food.

All the effort, just for this?

He pulls the Heart out again, to _check_ that the charm is the right item – perhaps there is something more here, something genuinely worth retrieval, and the risk that the guard nearby might put the whole area on high alert. There is not – but as he picks up the charm, Yoruichi’s stolen voice whispers to him.

‘ _The Favour of the Void is in your hands, the possibility that every time you use the power of the Void, no energy of your own will be lost.’_

Well. That would have been a useful function to know about before he left all his other charms in a stash in his apartment.

Kisuke clips it to the collar of his coat. He does _not_ plan on showing his face or mask to the Overseers - so, wearing a heretical artefact won’t land him in any additional trouble, since they’ll never see him in the first place.

He’ll need to check his charm hoard later. Once he gets back from this mission.

The guards are still suspicious on the other side of the gate, murmuring about shadows and rats and thieves.

Kisuke glances over the edge of the bridge.

Yes, he can swim, certainly… Flicker down, swim to shore, then go to the side street… Kisuke shivers, and it’s not the prospect of being drenched in icy water for the next hours that disturbs him. He’s had worse. It’s just that merely leaving a trail of stinking water as he wanders would make him easier to notice, to track, to _find_.

He loads a sleep dart into the crossbow, holding it in his right hand as he Flickers to the top of the corpse cart, then to the base of the lamp post, and then up. Anyone even looking in his direction ought to be sniped, perhaps.

Although, he doesn’t have that many darts with him - and who knows what the streets ahead of him hold?

He watches the three closer guards, and then turns his attention to the wall of light.

It’s powered by a whale oil tank - he could remove it, of course, but the guards would notice, and would _definitely_ be alarmed about it.

The guards look distracted, slightly sleepy, and that gives him an idea. They might notice a missing whale oil tank, but they might _not_ notice…

He Flickers.

Minutes later, walking down the sidestreet, Kisuke counts the coins retrieved from the unobservant guard’s pouches. Behind him, two of the patrolling guards are shouting at the unfortunate third one, who had _not_ brought a pouch with him. And is now, of course, the prime suspect for the thefts.

He will need this money to get the Lord Regent down; for his supplies, and for everyone else’s. The entertainment is… merely an unexpected side benefit.

Kisuke glances around as he walks. The side street is sparsely populated: just two men talking by some trash bins, and an old, haggard lady throwing old glasses and vases over the edge of the balcony - disposing of trash?

More useful, is a stand with a helpful regional map that indicates the locations of Holger Square, the High Overseer’s Office, the Golden Cat, and the local Whiskey Distillery.

The Heart indicated that the next item is somewhere around the lady’s house, didn’t it?

He focuses, blinks, and the world stains itself blue, the human figures glowing yellow-white now. 

The lady retreats from the balcony, into the depths of the house.

There’s some convenient bins nearby, and a bunch of abandoned junk, permitting him to quickly climb up to the balcony.

No need to Flicker in the peripheral vision of those two civilians.

The inside of the house is dilapidated. It’s very, very clearly uncared for, looking like it is long abandoned, despite the fact that the old lady must be living here.

The wooden floor is dank and rotted, squelching more than creaking. The paint on the walls is peeling, and as he walks through, there’s an odd stench pervading the house, reminiscent of both Coldridge interrogation rooms, and a slaughterhouse that he once had the misfortune to inspect. Is there a corpse in here?

The old lady – and it is a _lady_ , the clothes though old and worn, clearly were once _very_ fine, judging by the embroidery – is standing over a pot, the contents unidentifiable, and most likely the smell’s source. 

“Here, my birdies, I’ll have some food for you soon. Oh! My wife is never leaving my things where they ought to be, the poor forgetful dear. We’ll talk to her, my birdies, we will,” she mutters to herself. 

He sneaks past her, going for the door that leads into a tiny back garden – a garden that houses an _extensive_ Outsider shrine, better maintained than any of the ones he had encountered so far. The rich purple fabric is whole, all the scattered lanterns lit and glowing an odd violet.

Two runes lie on the altar, as Kisuke gingerly approaches it. Hopefully, the old lady won’t miss these too much - even if this shrine does seem very important to her.

As his hands rest on them, intending to pick them up, the world falls away, leaving him standing in pure darkness, the only things remaining being him, the scattered purple lamps, and the altar.

“And so, the loyal hound is sent off on his first mission.”

The voice sounds from right behind him, and he spins around, facing the source. The Outsider, standing behind him, smoking a long thin pipe.

“You walk the city tonight, with the first of the true _conspirators_ within your reach. The High Overseer, the supporter of the Lord Regent, is both more and less zealous than you know - a hypocrite of the _highest_ order, some would say, bringing _death_ and _fear_ while trying to achieve _justice_ and _peace_. Trying to get to a better world with violence and hate.” She pauses, to take a drag, and then exhales, the smoke blacker than the shadows around them. But not blacker than her eyes. “Will you do the same?”

He doesn’t think he’s meant to do more than listen, here.

“Remember, I am watching your progress with _great_ interest. Try to be… entertaining.”

Entertaining?

What would a _god_ find _entertaining_? He’s certain she’s seen more violence than he can imagine.

The darkness vanishes, along with those staring black eyes, and he is back in the garden, feeling the power from the runes settle in his bones. Or perhaps he never truly _left_ , never _entered_ the Void, the Outsider merely an apparition in the real world. It wasn’t like there’s someone around who could have seen what happened, other than the squeaking rats on the floor.

He almost collides with the old lady when he walks through the door, but she doesn’t startle or scream for help, turning to face him with milky white eyes like she’s been expecting him. _She’s blind_ , he realises.

“Oh, my dear, where have you been all this time?”

He freezes. His voice can’t give him away here if he tries to reply – but his silence can.

There’s a faint crash, and someone loudly thumping on the street-side door, calling indistinctly.

The old lady frowns.

“There are some gentlemen callers at the door, and they are being so very rude. I like the attention, but not this late at night. Would you mind telling them to go home, dearie?”

He nods, and then realises she can’t see him, but-

“Thank you, dearie. I’ll give you a little present when you’re done, how about that?”

How did she know? Or did she simply assume? 

He retreats upstairs, unnerved, to see who could _possibly_ be shouting for the old lady at this hour.

From the balcony he can see three men – thugs, likely from a local gang.

“Open up, Granny Rags, we know you’re in there!” one shouts, and bangs on the door again. 

This is Granny Rags? Interesting.

“Do you really think this is worth it? She’s an old woman, doing nuthin’ but sifting through garbage all day,” mutters one of the other thugs.

The third one answers. “Haven’t you heard the rumour about her secret stash? She’s some noble, they say, or stole from one, hiding treasures in that garbage heap of hers. ‘Sides, she’s been here for years - gotta have found something of use, while rooting through trash.”

Kisuke counts the sleep darts he has – twelve.

They will notice being darted – they won’t go down immediately, not unless he can find some better hemlock, or enough _valuables_ to pay Kurotsuchi to work on the formula and improve the effect.

If he could just _stop_ time for a second, just enough to get off three shots to the exposed necks, or better – sneak up, stab two with darts, and throw the third dart, and Flicker up before they realise he’s there...

The runes in his bones burn, and then disperse, and he feels- he can do something _new_ , now, a different hand gesture on the tips of his fingers.

Surely...

He clenches his hand into a fist, and everything... it doesn’t stop, not quite, but it _slows_ , the world tinting an odd green, as almost all his magic drains away, leaving him dizzy.

Not wasting any time, he Flickers to stand behind the two men further from the door, snipes the third with a dart, stabs the closer two with more darts, and Flickers back up before they manage to even turn their heads to see who is stabbing them.

The green tint vanishes just as he darts into the house, and now all he can do is wait. The three men curse loudly, starting a search for the invisible assailant - probably with their weapons drawn.

His power ebbs back, but not everything spent is restored, and he drums his fingers on the balcony floor thoughtfully.

The different skills must take different amounts of power - that makes sense, slowing time is a much bigger _thing_ that simply moving through space. _Stopping_ time completely will probably cost even more runes and magic.

He hears three thuds outside, as the men finally pass out. He considers just leaving them there - but no. There’s rats around, far too many rats.

There’s a nice, relatively flat piece of roof that is within Flickering distance, so, one by one, he brings them there, laying them in a pile. Surely, there will be no plague rats on a _roof_ , after all.

Granny Rags is still in the kitchen when he returns to her.

“Thank you, dearie - the present is upstairs. Go on, take it.” 

He hadn’t seen anything when he came through the balcony, but with his vision, surely he can-

He stares at the rune hanging on string from the up-ended boat stuck in the room. The boat was there before, yes, a strange choice for interior decorating - but the rune hadn’t been.

How did it get there?

He approaches cautiously, reaching out to take it.

Then someone coughs, right behind him.

If he was still possessed of a voice he would have yelped in surprise, because somehow, Granny Rags had walked up to stand _right behind him_ without him hearing a _thing_.

“Enjoy your gift, dearie. I have another present for you, if you want, if you’d just do me another little favour.”

Another rune would certainly not go amiss, even if he is liking this woman less and less with every action.

There’s something very, very strange about her.

“There’s a doctor living not too far from here, his house guarded by the city watch. Doctor Galvani, his name is, and he’s been rather rude to me - just like those gentlemen callers from the distillery nearby. Could you perhaps do me a favour, and find something nasty in his house to add to some of the alcohol? To the barrels, or some such, I imagine they have some quite valuable drinks over there.”

Poisoning the alcohol stores of a gang? 

Does he need _that_ kind of trouble?

He nods anyway, figuring it won’t matter if he _doesn’t_ do it. How would she knows? What could she even do to him, if he doesn’t go through with her task?

...He’s not certain he actually wants to know that, not with her sneaking up and the magically appearing rune.

Perhaps… yes. Kisuke will look into it, of course, and perhaps leaving just a little bit of _something_ to make the whiskey taste _off_ might suffice for Granny Rags, and she won’t turn up right behind him. Again.

He’s about to Flicker down to the street, when something occurs to him.

He draws the Heart out, and points it at Granny’s retreating back. 

What can it say?

 _"Long ago Vera Moray danced at court balls. Men begged to marry her.”_ A noblewoman? She _has_ fallen far. _“Be wary. She treads with purpose. And is not as frail as she seems. She has given herself fully to the Outsider."_ The Heart sounds… unnerved, and he shivers. He ought to be careful about this one, then.

The side-street continues on. 

He spies two apartments with open windows and balconies, and Flickers up to investigate them. 

One is graffitied inside, with notes and insults from local gang members, and is full of assorted pieces of weaponry that he ignores, a bowl of fruit that he consumes, and a bone charm that promises his sword strikes to be stronger, faster, which he takes.

Gang drop point or panic stash, he’s not actually sure - could be either, although the bricked up entry ways do beg the question of how anyone is meant to get here without magic.

The other apartment has some processed whale oil bottles scattered amongst stinking, wrapped up plague corpses scattered around, and a single blue vial. He downs it, ignoring the room’s stench and the vial’s taste. His magic flares back up to… not quite full, he doesn’t think. Just almost full.

The Heart is in his hand in a mere moment, to check if there is anything else of value around, any charms or runes that he might have somehow missed.

There is one in a neighboring house, actually, one with every window boarded or bricked - he thought there was only the one in the vicinity, earlier, because they were too close to each other.

Flickering back down to the street, he realises that the door to the building in question is looking _very_ fragile. A couple hits with the sword, and it splinters into dust.

He walks inside, the world tinted blue again, until he spots a mass of writhing shapes on the upper floor, swarming around a human figure, but not touching it. A Weeper? Or someone sitting on something high, something the plague rats can’t climb with their odd, short limbs?

He keeps the sword ready as he walks upstairs.

The rats notice him, starting to swarm around his feet, curious but not vicious, and he takes the opportunity to skewer them on his sword , until they disperse in fright.

The man in the room, hiding from the rats on a table, looks astonished.

“Thank you! I was thinking I was a right gonner, what with all these rats, and no one hearing me shout for help. But you must have heard me!”

Kisuke actually came for the bonecharm, but he supposes it’s nice enough to know he’s managed to save _someone’s_ life.

“Here, have something for your trouble,” the man says, and adds under his breath, “And perhaps this will help you with rats more than it has helped _me_.”

A bonecharm.

“I’m Griff, by the way, and if you need to buy anything _not_ so easily available on the market these days, you can buy it from me. And I won’t be asking no questions, if you know what I mean.”

Kisuke pauses, and then retrieves some of his money, as well as a sleep dart.

He points at the dart, then at Griff, then at the money, then raises three fingers. The message seems to get itself across, after a mere two repetitions.

“Aye, I have some of these. Fifty apiece, mind, they’re hard to find. How many do you need - three, right?”

Three coins worth fifty each net him a replacement to the three darts he used on the thugs, and he bows in thanks before departing. Better to keep this connection friendly.

Who knows if he might need it later.

The Heart tells him that the last whalebone item location is across the low wall behind the rubbish bins at the end of the side street - in a house on the other side of the main street.

Across the _guard-patrolled main street_ , with another guard on the lowest balcony of the house.

Well… he pickpocketed the guards earlier with almost no trouble. This, surely, he can manage - especially if…

The waxing moon is brighter now, the clouds receding a little, and he just has to make sure to cast no shadow on the street for the guard to see and grow wary of.

He drops down from the roof to the ventilation shaft that runs along the house, then to the shaft adjoining the checkpoint gate, and then Flickers up to the ventilation of the houses on the other side of the street, bypassing all the guards quite easily. 

And then he Flickers upwards again.

The top balcony of the house is, unsurprisingly, not locked, and after checking that there’s no guard behind the door, or staring at it, he slips in.

The top floor seems to be dedicated to an office and a laboratory, the doors to the stairwell locked – explaining the absence of guards on this floor. 

There are some notes on the tables about _patients_ , nobles and the rich, complaining of joint pain or colds, and even of issues in the bedroom in one notable case, scattered among beakers and microscopes and petri dishes full of things that he has no interest in touching.

There’s pieces of wire and tyvian ore scattered around, however - and...

One of the bookshelves has a wheel on the side, and the floor in front of it is scraped in a semicircle, indicating that this is, most likely, the entrance to a hidden room. Patiently, Kisuke tries pulling out every book, until he finally pulls on an unremarkable dark purple volume in the middle that doesn’t allow itself to be fully taken out.

Quietly groaning, the whole bookshelf swings open like a giant door, revealing the hidden contents.

There are some notes, some books, several golden ingots, and a bonecharm that makes him feel dizzy as he approaches laid out on a table by a window - but there is also a dissection table, and bottled viscera under examination.

He blinks, and realises he’s forgotten to check the other charm for its purpose when he acquired it.

The Heart beats frantically at the presence of two bonecharms laid out in front of it.

“ _The white rats in the sewers are touched by the Void, and if you eat them, that power will go to you,”_ it whispers about Griff’s charm, and Kisuke grimaces in disgust.

Raw rat skewers is one thing. Live rats?

But... eating live rat _might_ be worth it if he can restore power by picking off the white rats out of swarms, and it is not like he can be sicker with the plague than he is now. The Mark will keep him _alive_ , and in the state he is now. He clips it to his chest, next to the other two.

“ _Swords and bullets and bolts with harm you less, deflected or blunted, but should you fall or stumble, the damage will be worse on your brittle bones._ ”

That does… not sound pleasant, he has to admit. He is not certain if the effect will be active if he just keeps it in his pocket.

He considers. He does not _plan_ to be in combat. Flickering from one place to another, limiting physical movement to as little as possible, conserving his energy and health, does not involve fighting in any way, shape, or form.

And anyway, sword combat… he almost certainly does not have the strength for that, not now. Not until he recovers more of his old health, stamina, and strength.

He leaves the cursed charm be.

He finds a journal to skim through instead, kept on the reverse side of the swinging bookshelf. 

_The plague rats are larger, more ferocious than our normal rats – in fact, they bear a great deal of resemblance to the Pandyssian Bull Rat exhibits I have seen in the Karnacan Conservatory._

_A mutation in the local rats, perhaps - because the plague rats certainly do not have the right spread pattern for a foreign pest. The earliest strains of the plague are in the poorest districts, not by any of the harbours. Surely, a foreign disease would start at a port…_

_Unless someone introduced the rats to the city on purpose. A foreign power?_

That explains what all the viscera under study in this room is – plague rat intestines. And judging from the smell, not quite _recent_.

He takes one of the half-full beakers – surely enough dead rat in there to make some whiskey go a little bad? Surely enough for Granny Rags?

He closes the hidden room behind him as he goes, and locks the laboratory door when exiting to the stairwell. No need to leave too many signs of his presence.

The floor below houses a maid and a guard talking to each other. An engaged pair discussing moving out of the city the moment the quarantine lifts for so much as a second, or at least escaping out to the rest of Gristol, paying for someone to take them past the quarantine. 

Kiuske has to wait for them to shut up, and disperse, the guard going upstairs, the maid puttering around, to let himself into a room that seems to function as a cross between an office, a library, and a sitting room - or perhaps even a dining room, judging by the table.

There are some valuable statues, pieces of tyvian ore and neatly bound feathers in display cases that Kisuke cheerfully empties. These probably won’t be missed too much - or at least, can be easily replaced.

There is one item of interest in this room - a safe, locked with a three digit combo.

It takes a couple minutes of spinning the numbers until the door swings open at _three-one-seven,_ creaking and squeaking in protest, revealing some golden ingots.

He Flickers past the maid to access the house owner’s bedroom, finding a money pouch stuffed between the mattress and the bed frame, and a red vial in a chest of clothing.

All that remains here - coins in an empty storage room, bath salts and an expensive-looking brush in a showering room with instructions to use distilled alcohol and a rag to wash hands and arms and anything “exposed” before using the water, and a red-lit room with more science equipment in it, flasks of preserved organs and intestines and what look like.. mould strains?

There doesn’t seem to be anything of interest on the bottom floor of the house, other than the three patrolling guards, and a rat swarm in one room, but he decides to check it out anyway. 

At the very least, he could perhaps deal with the rats before they attack anyone in the house.

The door to the rat room, however, is reinforced steel, and he frowns at it. 

Are the rats here on purpose? Aren’t the ones in the cages enough?

He looks down - and shudders. A severed hand lies on a tray right in front of the door, initially hidden by shadows.. There’s a note left next to it.

_After the incident with the last maidservant, I urge you all to be far more careful, and not to stay after your assigned hours, or go looking where you ought not to._

_You are here to guard and clean, not investigate._

The arm does _not_ look like it came from a dead weeper. The incident- surely, the incident didn’t mean the owner killed the maid or some such - or that the guards let him do it?

Certainly, it sounds far too... violent.

And yet- what else could it be? The arm is clearly cut off, not chewed off. 

The guards must _know…_ whatever happened, they must know. And allow the corpse of a random person to be fed to rats.

For a terrible moment he _considers_ . He _could_ let the rats out, use the key on the nearby hook to open the door and then let the rats swarm out. If the guards don’t care who gets fed to the rats, surely they won’t care if they get eaten, now will they?

The urge passes, and he shakes his head.

No. He shouldn’t cause any unnecessary chaos.

He leaves the house via the top floor balcony.

The trip to the gang’s _Distillery_ is uneventful, almost _lulling_ . It is just so _easy_ to Flicker across piping and roofs, and he has to shake his head and _focus_ once he gets to the Distillery yard.

There are far more guards around the place. More thugs around than there are Watch men in the streets. Fine then, so he just _has_ to be quieter, stealthier, take the longer, rooftop route around the open courtyard, and never get lower than at least two floors off the ground.

Fine. He can do that.

The key to the Distillery itself does have to be taken off the belt of a guard poring over a map of Dunwall - and this time Kisuke makes sure to be quicker about the pickpocketing than he was on that bridge. Raising an alarm here would almost be worse. Possibly.

The Distillery building itself has at least six guards inside that Kisuke can spot in the first minute, lurking around the edge of the door frame to an office already emptied of goods, Heart in his hand while he waits.

There’s a bonecharm around here somewhere.

‘ _There’s a strong drink they make here. I tried it once. It tasted like it was made from river krusts,’_ the Heart suddenly whispers, and he almost drops it.

He stares. That can’t… the Heart can’t have an actual spirit in there. 

Surely not.

Surely it’s not her. 

Merely a cruel trick of the Outsider.

He forces himself to return to watching the guards.

They’re wide awake, and he has to Flicker to the highest rafters to avoid being spotted when one of the guards seems to notice something wrong, and approaches to investigate, muttering about being _sure_ that he saw something on the ledge he was previously perched on.

He still doesn’t know what he should contaminate here.

There are big barrels here, yes, and large pots and whatnot – but nothing that seems particularly _unique_ , something particularly _important_ that can be spoiled. Nothing that the gang might deem good enough to drink _themselves_ , rather than sell off.

Perhaps he should find the head office, if there is one…

There’s a door on the other side of the room, and he sneaks in by following a patrolling guard, before Flickering to the top of some shelves - where he finds a bonecharm.

Something to make him a better, faster swimmer apparently. He clips it on. 

It’s not- _useless_ , he supposes.

The staircase below him goes down, and he Flickers right to the base, out of sight of a guard, before turning. He finds himself facing a corridor _full_ of booby-traps, and a mesh wall with a door set in, to protect - hah, here it is - an office with several old-looking, important barrels in it, and some sort of- distillery system?

There’s a hole in the mesh, where it meets the stairs going down.

Kisuke squeezes himself through the small, empty space under the last steps, and crawls through the hole, mesh edges scratching at his coat.

There’s one benefit to being thin, clearly.

Upon examination, and prodding of the dispensation wheel, the system turns out to contain some sort of bootleg version of Unohana’s elixir. Not as strong, not as potent, probably diluted with water and slime to let more sales be done and more money brought in, but working well enough to keep the clients alive and coming back for more. And Kisuke finds a _long_ list of clients in the nearby desk.

He frowns in disgust at the _exorbitant_ prices being charged – but there is nothing he can do, and the way it is rationed and dispensed by the _state_ these days, many of the residents do not get enough - and sometimes not anything.

Exorbitant prices are worth it if they stay alive after paying them.

He takes out the vial of rat viscera, and brings it up to the light, looking at it thoughtfully. Poisoning the elixir...

Yes, it would certainly be one way to complete the task Granny set.

And would let who knows _how_ many people succumb to the plague - the entire client list, and maybe more, depending on who those clients are passing on the vials to.

Yoruichi… Yoruichi would be quite rightly angry if he did that just to get a single rune. And, frankly, he’d agree with her; many lives versus just the one rune isn’t a fair trade.

He can not do _this_ , but maybe...

He examines the rest of the office.

There’s some money, a bottle of filtered whale oil, and a casket of whiskey marked “For Special Occasions”.

The rat viscera goes in.

His job here is done, and he tries not to feel guilty about it as he leaves the building and then the yard, returning to Granny Rag’s home.

She’s not there when he arrives - but he finds another rune hanging from the ceiling, and a note.

_“Perhaps not quite what I had in mind, dearie, but you did obey the words of what I asked. Here is your birthday gift. Oh, and there’s a little alley to the left of the second checkpoint. It’s the safer route.”_

He watches the guards toss a rat through the Wall of Light at the second checkpoint _._ There’s a loud squeak, the electricity flashes, and ash falls to the ground.

Kisuke shivers. 

He doesn’t particularly care to know whether the same would happen to a human.

The buildings around it are too tall - he can’t Flicker to the top, can’t go via the roofs. Perhaps he can disable the Wall by removing the tank of whale oil, or go ask Griff for a rewire tool, to pass through unscathed.

But there are far too many guards around, even if he does disable the Wall.

However.. he looks around.

There is… it doesn’t look quite like a side street, but more of a lower level alongside the buildings, parallel to the wall and checkpoint.

He carefully Flickers to the edge, and then down to the floor, when the closest guard turns away from looking over it.

Another Flicker takes him past a rat swarm hiding down that street, and another takes him to a tiny side street that seems to lead to the same street as the checkpoint, but with no guards.

He wanders along it.

Kisuke flattens himself to the wall when he hears a voice, and approaches slowly, listening, watching. 

In the small street stand two gang members, an eleven scrawled on their faces, threatening a woman - a servant.

Kisuke doesn’t stop to listen before shooting both of them with sleep darts, and Flickering to the top of an old sign, and then to another, until he’s looking over the street previously inaccessible to him, before the woman can see who rescued her.

“Thank the Outsider,” he hears her say, and watches her hurry off to an even narrower sidestreet, squeezing between the buildings.

A wry smile touches his lips.

She is not wrong about who she ought to be thanking.

The street, past the checkpoint, branches off in two directions. The right fork leads to the street ending near the Golden Cat, and the left - the left goes up to the gate to Holger Square. 

Three guards patrol near the entrance, two by the door, one going up and down the street - but he merely Flickers behind crates, and then right up to the door, slipping through unnoticed.

He ought to try and make a shrine for the Outsider. 

Without her help, this would have been nowhere near as easy.

The first thing he sees after silently shutting the door behind him, is the square - and in the middle, there is an Overseer with his back to him. It takes a moment of adjusting to the bright glare of the floodlights focused on the base of a column, with Holger’s bust on top of it, to make out the second person - an Overseer restrained on his knees by some kind of machine.

He is too late to overhear whatever the patrolling Overseer was saying, as he walks off just as Kisuke gets within hearing range, and goes up some stairs to the street beyond, shutting the gate behind him.

Remaining in the shadows, Kisuke draws out the Heart, and points it at the bound man.

‘ _Martin Teague. The boot-maker, the thief, the sailor, the soldier, the tailor, and now, a man of faith. Hand in every pot, ear in every room.’_ So he’s found the man he was meant to rescue. Well, that solves the problem of figuring out how to find him. He’s here, trussed up like a Fugue Feast swan, right in front of him. _‘He may wear an Overseer’s uniform, but his heart is black with sin.’_

That is not an _endearing_ snippet of information, but then, few people in power aren’t in some way corrupt.

He approaches slowly, waiting for Teague to notice him.

“I know it is you, Kisuke,” the man whispers frantically, finally making out his form in the gloom. “Just pull that lever, it will let me go. I’ll buy you a drink – man, I’ll buy you a hundred drinks if you let me go right _this_ second.”

He does, and the restraints snap back, releasing Teague. The man rises to his feet, the frantic, pleading expression falling away instantly, and leaving a cold and calculating faux-cheerfulness behind.

“Good timing, my knees were getting sore. Tousen is in his office right now, just started having a nice long talk with Captain Curnow.”

Ah, of course. The other two assignments - rescue and assassination.

“One of my informants has informed me that Tousen plans to poison him. You can use that to your advantage, I am sure.” Teague gives him a meaningful look. “I will head back to the Hound Pits, and if I see Samuel, I will tell him to meet you in the Back Yard, right behind the High Overseer’s Office. Best of luck to you.”

Kisuke nods tersely, and watches the man retrieve an Overseer’s mask from behind a crate, put it on, and stroll off through the door. There’s something about him...

Something slippery and unpleasant about the man that makes him think of the former Spymaster. Something that sets him on edge.

But then, not every snake is out to bite him, is it? 

Kisuke Flickers to some ventilation piping that takes him over the closed gate to the road, and Flickers to a ledge on the building of the High Overseer’s Office. From his perch, he watches three Overseers patrol the road. Or rather, stand around, conversing, and he Flickers to a closer lamppost to listen in.

“I was just reading in the Archive about the Heretic’s Brand. The Hollow’s Mark, some call it. It sounds painful. Have you ever seen the ritual?” This Overseer sounds young, curious, and Kisuke watches him standing there, stiff-backed, and formal. Fresh out of training.

“I’ve never seen the Heretic’s Brand used, no. It’s a rare occurrence – very rare. But I did once happen to spy the visage of one so branded. A former member of our esteemed order, of course. It was out on a journey, passing through a fishing town. I saw him begging on a street corner.” The second Overseer leans back against the wall - older, perhaps, less stiffly formal - or caring for order.

“What did he do?”

“Who can say? The Brand is only for those Overseers – or even the High Overseer – who have violated our codes, their hearts proven hollow of devotion, and must be permanently banished, cast out, forgotten. Remember the Seven Strictures, and there ought to be no reason to worry about such matters.” The Overseer straightens, and heads off through a nearby door.

A Brand that will make one a permanent outcast, the reasons for it unquestioned? Interesting.

He ought to keep an eye out.

He walks along the ledge, passing behind the large swathes of red cloth marked with the Abbey’s symbol that drape over the sides of the building, until he’s looking over Holger square.

Overseers and City Watch guards patrol the square, and the street in front of him - nearly a dozen, or maybe even more. 

He can needlessly extend his journey by going through the square, and then through the main entrance, or, perhaps, through the kennels which he knows are located nearby.

Or he could ignore the rules by which most people are bound, and enter through one of the windows nearby, accessible via the ledge.

His Vision shows him a guard patrolling up and down the corridor – so the moment the guard turns away from the nearest window, he slips inside, grabs a bunch of coins left under a table, takes the coin pouch of the Overseer, and blindly goes through the door on the right, certain that there’s no one there.

The thick red carpet muffles his footsteps wonderfully.

Up the stairs, he finds an office looking over an interrogation chamber. The place stinks of cleaning chemicals and old blood, illuminated by harsh blue lights, and in the centre of the room is a _chair_ , the floor around the base stained with blood. It smells, looks, so much like Coldridge, that something inside him _hurts_.

He ends up kneeling on the floor, shaking, dizzier and more off-kilter than can be accounted for by the illness and the exhaustion. 

Perhaps he ought to ask Kurotsuchi if he can provide a sort of mild sedative on a handkerchief, not enough to knock out a person - just a little valerian and whiteroot, something light and relaxing.

There’s a desk in this observation chamber overlooking the chair, and he riffles through it. There’s an odd, iron brand there, among the papers and books. Could this be the Heretic’s Brand that he heard of earlier?

His fingers skitter nervously over the handle before he picks it up, and he takes off his mask to sniff at the end - the air filtration system is useful in the street, but not now.

The metal coated in something foul and acrid - an acid, maybe river krust bile.

There’s an audiograph card and player, as well as a book, right next to the brand.

He reads the book first.

_The Heretic’s Brand is reserved for those Overseers who have committed heinous acts against the Order, but have not broken codes that would warrant an execution. No contact, aid or shelter can be given to one bearing the brand; that person is forevermore unwelcome to the Abbey and its affiliates._

_When used, the brand is applied to the forehead, so all can see the sins of the recipient. The chemical compound acts immediately, scarring the heretic for the remainder of life, and the injury cannot be treated or undone._

_The Interrogation Room here at the Office of the High Overseer stands ready for the branding ritual, should the need arise. The recipient must be strapped into the interrogation chair and restrained as the brand is applied. The Heretic’s Brand itself is to be stored in the same room._

Useful. 

He doesn’t _need_ to go and kill Tousen. Doesn’t need to kill the man whose presence grew oh-so-familiar to him during the interrogations, the usually-silent presence that would aid Soi Fon in her attempts to pry a false confession out of him. He can choose to spare him, after all that - and inflict on him a mere fraction of the pain that he himself has experienced.

And spare himself from murdering a man in cold blood.

He switches on the audiograph player, morbidly curious. He’s certain it will be an interrogation session recording, but… Well. Information is power.

_“What we have is a man, age over eighteen but under thirty. Unusual marking over chest and arms, likely superstitious heresy. Wearing some sort of industrial mask when we brought him in, stolen from a whaling ship. Painted white, with harsh black patterns.”_

Kisuke’s breath catches. Whaler mask with odd markings?

_“You’re one of Shinji's men, aren’t you? Caught at last.”_

A brief silence.

He always thought that the assassin was just a rumour, the sheer number of deaths attributed to him simply _impossible_. And the incredible, magical skills necessary to pull off some of them… But then, he has proof of those now. He has seen them with his own eyes. 

_“Give us a name, at least. Wait- What’s wrong with your eyes? Opium? Laudanum? Are you with us? What are you doing? Some kind of fit!”_

Sounds of convulsions, and retching.

_”He’s gone. Here it is; a pin, hidden in one of his gloves. Subject has administered some kind of poison. The effects seem to be lethal.”_

This is... something that he can’t ponder, not even if it could be a direct lead on Yoruichi’s killer. Not right now. _Curnow_ might not have the time. If he’s still alive, of course.

He Flickers to the top of the bars separating the observation platform from the interrogation chamber, then to the chandelier, through the window above the door on the opposite end of the room, and then through another door-window.

The next room turns out to be a library.

He rests on the bookshelf, inadvertently eavesdropping on a quiet monologue.

One Overseer pores over stacks of paper on a large table, another paces around the room, thinking, and a third works on the second floor of the library, level with Kisuke, but separated from him by more bookshelves and a railing.

“-back to the beginning. It’s clear that Martin had a plot to break him out of prison. But why him? Why the one man most feared throughout the empire? Urahara managed to vanish like a ghost when it came time for the axe to fall, seemingly without outside help – we can’t rule out black magic, here! The other attempt’s trail leads to Martin! But Martin- Martin knows everyone, everywhere. His tracks are impossible to follow. And who _did_ manage to help Urahara? Unless… he _did_ break out _alone_ , with no aid whatsoever...”

There’s a brief silence.

“He sounds like one of Shinji’s men, with the disappearing stunt he pulled. But I don’t see a link… Urahara _had_ helped change and improve Coldridge security. Did he leave holes there just in case he ever had to flee?

“Surely… surely he did not flee to the Flooded District, after? How would he even know the place would be abandoned? But it would explain his continued absence...”

Well, that is a... concerning degree of astuteness, but not an unreasonable one.

The other Overseer murmurs something, but Kisuke catches only “-skilled, incredibly so, to escape the prison, and then the sewers, half the Watch looking for him.” 

He Flickers through the room and back into the corridor, and then crawls along the ledge by the ceiling, the very faint sound of a familiar voice reaching him.

Another Flicker, and he’s in the meeting room adjoining the High Overseer’s office. The room is _almost_ opulent by the place’s standards, decorated with draping red fabric on the walls, branded with the Abey’s mark, and a red carpet covering the whole floor. Displayed above the fireplace is a humming rune, and the middle of the room is taken up by a long table with a wine-bottle and two glasses.

 _Poisoned_ glasses, perhaps?

The voices are louder here, men talking in the office beyond. Tousen, certainly - and the other man… Curnow?

He is not sure how much time he has before they come out.

Upon examination, the glasses look and _smell_ identical. He frowns.

He could switch them, and hope that only one of them is poisoned, and Tousen won’t realise, won’t notice any tiny difference in the glasses that Kisuke can’t spot.

He could break then both of them, then stalk Tousen, waiting for an opportunity to knock him out or kill him.

...He _has_ to make sure Curnow lives. He shouldn’t take the chance.

Kisuke shatters the glasses, as quietly as he can, plucks the rune off the wall, and Flickers to the ceiling ledge, and then out to the ledge outside the room, to listen, to wait.

And wait some more.

They’re really rather taking their time.

Eventually, he takes the Heart out. What does she- no, _it_ , have to say about this place?

Pointing it back at the interrogation rooms, he squeezes it, and hears, ‘ _Once they are brought here they never leave. The Overseers always find the guilt they seek. They are experts at extracting confessions, even from the innocent.’_

That is not surprising – given free reign, that is what they _do_. Kisuke has seen it to a small extent in Karnaca, and on trips to Morley and Tyvia… well, that was a tactic rampant in the Overseer operations there.

The Overseers are vicious in their hunts, accepting every accusation and suspicion as fact. And then, the following interrogations almost never fail to produce confessions.

‘ _Such corruption! Such hypocrisy. Make me look on it no more!’_ The Heart whispers to him, and he closes his eyes, tucking the Heart away into the Void. He can’t hear it imitating Yoruichi like that.

He can’t.

The High Overseer exits the office eventually, followed by two guards, and a man in the City Watch Captain uniform – that _must_ be Curnow. He’s been lucky to get here in time.

“High Overseer, the glasses- they’re broken,” one of the guards says in alarm.

From his hiding place, Kisuke can’t see Tousen’s expression.

“It is a true shame then, that we cannot partake of this excellent drink here, my good captain,” Tousen says at last, and is that a hint of concern there?

“Most regrettable,” Curnow says genially.

“Well, if you follow me, we can go somewhere else, with _intact_ glasses. Guards, dismissed.” 

The two men hurry off.

“No need to share the good things with them, aye, captain?”

“Indeed.”

Now, to get Tousen alone… he should follow him.

Curnow and Tousen leave the room, and then go down a flight of stairs. Kisuke follows along ledges and tops of doors and chandeliers, retrieving the Heart again.

The duo converse quietly, and he does not care to listen in, more curious as to what the Heart has to say about Tousen.

‘ _The High Overseer hates heretics, all of them. He hates those who are not fortunate in their lives, for he considers their misfortunes punishment for a lack of faith._

_‘He knows how corrupt the Overseers in the high positions are - and he abhors it. But he needs their support and their ruthlessness, so he finds out their secrets and blackmails them into compliance. One day, he will purge them. Once he is done purging the City.’_

Kisuke sighs. That is most certainly _not_ what he expected to hear – what with Tousen supposedly being the paragon of faith and justice and the laws - but of course, Yoruichi would always know _all_ the gossip, all the dark (and sometimes amusing) secrets kept by others. (Sometimes, thanks to his _own_ investigations and surveillance for threats, but his own habits are neither here nor there.)

_‘He hates the aristocracy, but not enough that the promise of money to exterminate the heretic filth in the streets does not sway him. The screams are a necessary evil in the execution of justice.’_

Kisuke shivers, and points the Heart as Curnow instead as he walks through a door and into the basement.

_‘His first lover was a soldier from Tyvia. They parted ways, but they still write.’_

Downstairs, he watches Tousen press on the eye of a bust, one of the only ornaments Kisuke has seen in the Office, and part of the wall starts to move, revealing a secret passage. A hidden room? How unexpected.

_‘The man despises the Lord Regent and the rampant corruption. His loyalty is to the city, the people, and his men. He does not hide it as well as he thinks.’_

No wonder he is slated for elimination.

The two walk inside, and Kisuke crouches low, sleeping dart loaded into the crossbow, creeping behind them.

_‘His Grandfather came from Serkonos. They never let him forget it.’_

The two halt, and talk.

“-fine portrait it is, I must say; it is a shame you can’t-”

Curnow turns away, looking at something, and Tousen slowly starts to draw his sword, standing close enough that a single swing will be enough to decapitate Curnow.

It’s a sudden enough action that the first dart goes just wide enough to miss, striking the wall. Curnow turns at the sound - and sees the danger, just as the second bolt hits home.

Tousen collapses to the floor like a drunk.

Curnow looks around, his own sword unsheathed.

“Who’s there? Show yourself - I won’t harm you.” He sounds shaken, and Kisuke stands up straight, walking into the light.

Curnow eyes him with suspicion.

“Thank you. I suppose… Ah, the glass in the room…was that you too? Was it poisoned?”

Kisuke nods, impressed. The man clearly made his way up the ranks with his brain, not just brawn and bribes.

“I will not tell anyone you’re here then, as a thank you. Do what you must- I will take no part in it, but I suppose I can turn a blind eye for just this one night.”

Curnow nods curtly, throws a disgusted glance at Tousen, and walks away, already looking confident and at ease.

Kisuke is left alone to peruse the secret room.

There is an open display case, trophies and items of silver and gold carelessly strewn about, a pile of junk rather than valued treasures. Payment accepted, but treated as rainy day funding more than rewards, clearly.

There are plenty of mattresses on the floor, with... women’s underwear scattered around, if Kisuke is not sorely mistaken. He stares in disbelief, then pulls the Heart out. Maybe it can answer his question.

“ _He tests his spirit, his resolve, by breaking the Strictures every once in a while. He most enjoys doing it with the Stricture he believes most useless, for it never seems to be a true test of faith for him. He is considering striking it from the list one day.”_

Fascinating.

So the High Overseer frequented the Golden Cat, did he? Or did he send one of his blackmailed minions there?

He turns his attention to the other things in the room. The small fortune that he takes for his own, for example, and the large collection of audiograph cards.

Interesting. Are they simply music? Or something _more?_

He chooses what looks like the most recent one, and plays, just to test that... well, of course it could be a recording of whatever Tousen did _here_ . _Or_ it could be an audio journal, a recording of his movements, after all - or a recording of the information he uses to blackmail other Overseers. A paper journal would not be useful to him, after all.

 _“The Outsider must have found her way into the minds of those fools at Coldridge who let that filthy dog, Urahara, get away. Who knows what the man could do now – he ought to be as feral and insane as a badly trained hound of ours. And that_ fool _, Kugo Ginjo, has gotten into trouble with that_ new _gang of heretics, the Eleventh, the ones from Morley._

 _“Nobles. All the same, all corrupt; I do not understand why the Lord Regent tolerates them. The girl has been moved, of course, close enough that I can send my own Overseers to collect her if there is any more trouble._ “

 _Shit_ . Well, investigating the _previous_ location may help determine where she has been moved; if the other cards do not reveal the information. 

After all, how many royal girls could the man be talking about?

He collects the lot, emptying out the boxes and shelves of cards, stowing them away in the Void, along with the Heart.

Now… Now he has a choice to make.

* * *

_Slowly, deliberately, he unfolds the sword, not letting his hand shake as he walks over to the passed out man._

_He’s killed, before, in the heat of battle, in defence of Yoruichi’s life, if not his own. Killed assassins. But never… a defenceless opponent, never like_ this _._

_It is... odd. He raises the sword. Brings it down on Tousen’s neck, severing the head in one strike._

_He doesn’t- it doesn’t feel good. He doesn’t feel happy about this._

_There’s… no closure, like he was half-expecting. Just the stench of blood and a fresh corpse at his feet, the head rolling away a little. It doesn’t feel like vengeance. Doesn’t feel like achieving something._

_He feels… distant, if anything. He’s done his job. That is all._

_Perhaps this is a kinder fate than being thrown, shelterless, penniless, elixir-less on the streets of Dunwall to catch the plague and die in short order._

_Just perhaps._

_His hand doesn’t shake._

* * *

Carrying the Head Overseer back up the stairs is no easy task, not even with the Flickering. Keeping his balance is _hard,_ on the narrow ledges - he doesn’t dare to try the chandeliers - and he sways from the weight that he can barely carry.

Eventually, he sets the man down in the interrogation chair, ignoring the stench of blood, and retrieves the brand.

The reversal of positions, of power, brings him no joy whatsoever. Just a grim determination.

Tousen’s face burns under the metal, and Kisuke withdraws the brand in moments, feeling sick. It… doesn’t feel good, like he half-expected it to, to pay back for the pain in kind.

It merely is.

Curnow is alive. Tousen is dealt with, and will now no longer be an obstacle. 

Kisuke has hours before dawn - but probably far less before Tousen is found, and someone raises an alarm.

Still. Enough time to search for any spare coin, before he goes for the Back Yard.

This floor has little in the way of treasure to find; Tousen did not believe in opulence, stripping the place of most of the decorations when he ascended to power. 

The corridors are bare, the rooms little better, the furniture simple and sparse. Even the decorative wood panelling got stripped from the walls.

On the first floor he skirts around the rooms at the edges of the lobby, taking the stored donations – money, pearls, old medals, given in the hope that the Abbey will… what, protect them from the plague? Kisuke very much doubts that they can contain the rats by reciting strictures at them, or tossing grenades at the streets.

Maybe they’re just hoping to not be convicted of witchcraft if they pay the Overseers enough money.

He can hear an Overseer speaking to three visitors about the Outsider. The usual litany of the major sins, the ninety-nine forms of the Outsider, the Seven Strictures to bar the seven gates into a man’s heart through which the Outsider can enter.

The Wandering Gaze. The Lying Tongue. The Restless Hands. The Roving Feet. The Rampant Hunger. The Wanton Flesh. The Errant Mind.

Kisuke knows them all by heart, going to local literacy classes as a child, learning to read and write, and having to listen to the Overseer’s teaching, and mouths along as the Overseer describes them. 

_“Restrict roving feet that love to trespass. They pay no heed to the boundary stones of other men's fields. They wander into foreign lands, only to return with their soles blackened by iniquity…”_

He’d run to another district of the City before they could take notice of him in particular, of course.

He hadn’t been one of those children eager to be taken to be trained, just for the promise of bed and food and water.

The three civilian visitors start asking questions, once the Overseer finishes his litany – one asks about his wife’s sister, who, if Kisuke has to be honest, sounds more like an intelligent but stifled young woman who wants to go to the Academy, and not like the heretic the responding Overseer makes her out to be.

The only place left to investigate are the kennels - and the Heart whispers to him of a rune, or a charm, to be found there.

He walks downstairs again, and this time goes through the door.

The decision is one to regret, it turns out.

The kennels wouldn’t be out of place in a nightmare.

There is a room with bunks - clearly, some Overseers sleep next to their hounds, in this dark and dreary place. There are notes and letters there, of course, but nothing of any note – stuff like “ _Mind your tongue, your eyes, and your hands,”_ and so on.

the piping and supports of the ceiling are low enough that after stealing anything worth stealing in the bunks, he can crawl above the corridors without detection, even if the ceiling is so close it’s claustrophobia-inducing.

The Overseers patrol the corridors, one aided by a wolfhound, and Kisuke Flickers past them, hoping the hound will not catch his scent.

* * *

_He slips through corridors, and sees arms, legs, unidentifiable pieces of humans in the dish of every dog, and the sight and smell would make him sick if he was not so intimately acquainted with the scent of blood and sight of injuries._

_The hounds are fed human flesh - arms, legs, organs._

_His feels cold, numb with anger._

_He halts, freezing above an Overseer standing in front of a cage, dangling a small, severed human hand before it, the hound inside whining and slobbering._

_“Good girl, eh? Good hounds want to eat some heretics, don’t they? Here you go, you good girl, here you-“_

_It’s a child’s hand, he is certain._

_Kisuke isn’t quite consciously aware of making the decision, but the rune power surges and fades, and his hand does a strange motion, the Mark glowing even through the glove._

_Darkness pools on the ground, a swarming, moving darkness. A horde of rats that descends on the Overseer and consumes him, tearing him apart in his surprise, his screams ringing out before falling silent._

_Kisuke sways from the drain of the power, and the horrific sight._

_It feels..._

_He’s not sure._

_He’s killed Tousen, so very recently, but this-_

_This is different._

_He’s not sure if it’s an accident, or deliberate - or both._

_He hadn’t… he hadn’t known he could do this._

_He’s killed before, buried blade and bolt in men intent on killing Yoruichi, fought them to death in her defence, but that was in fights, not in cold blood, not by accident. This…_

_A man is dead, devoured by rats, killed in one of the most horrible ways that Kisuke can imagine, his blood now splattered all over the floor, his corpse nothing but splinters of bones._

_He hadn’t even truly meant to- except he clearly had, because if he hadn’t, the man wouldn’t be dead, would he?_

_He killed a random Overseer when he couldn’t kill Tousen, the man who had actually hurt him._

_Another Overseer rounds the corner, to check out the sounds, and the rats_ feast _once more._

_A silent, hysterical laugh starts to build in his throat, until he’s shaking with it._

_These men that kill innocent people just because they worship a god that couldn’t care less about corrupting them. They kidnap children to either brainwash them into their religion, or kill them if they aren’t good enough._

_Really, don’t they deserve this?_

_And – he stares at the blood coating the floor, the rats not eating the hounds – hadn’t this been something he had promised the Outsider?_

_(Do the justifications sound hollow even to his own ears?_

_The summoned rats seem to have no limit to their hunger, eating the third patrolling Overseer, and his hound, and then all the hounds in the cages._

_He drops down to the floor, almost not caring if he gets eaten himself._

_The rats flow around his feet, a flood of black and brown hunger, paying no attention._

_His hand trembles ever so slightly._

_He opens the door to the kennels that leads outside, to Holger square, and the rats follow._

_Everything is hazy, unreal, an odd ringing in his ears like distant screaming and everything too sharp and too shallow to be real. He stumbles when Flickering from lamppost to ledge to lamppost, almost falling._

_It’s so easy._

_The rats below are a commotion, a distraction, drawing in the Overseers, in ones and twos and threes._

_It’s so easy to sink bolts into necks and hearts and wait for them to fall and be devoured, the growing pool of blood and scattered shreds of corpses and torn clothes illuminated by harsh streetlights. So easy to_ relish _the screaming, and the wet, tearing sounds of feasting rats, even if it makes him sick._

_It’s a nightmare. No more real than that. It can’t be._

_Eventually, there’s no more screams, and the rats are gone, and he numbly drops to the street to collect blood-soaked money pouches and any intact bolts. With the Vision, none of it even looks like gore, not really. Just smells like it, sticking to his boots, staining the bottom of his coat when he bends down to collect another bloody coin._

_They never even_ see _him, never have a chance._

_There are still Overseers left inside the building. Maybe he could spare them?_

_He remembers the Heart’s words._

‘Once they are brought here they never leave. The Overseers always find the guilt they seek. They are experts at extracting confessions, even from the innocent.

‘There is nothing that scares the common folk more than them.’

* * *

_They deserve this._

_He hunts them down, waiting until they are alone, before he stabs them from the back, or goes for the neck with his blade, hand clamped over the mask’s mouth to drown out the sounds as he paints the walls and carpets a darker red, until there is nothing, not a single trace of sound or footsteps, other than the Overseers and three civilian men in the lobby._

_He… ought to not kill the civilians, perhaps._

_Yoruichi would not want him to._

_But the Overseers, they_ harm _her people. They bring pain and suffering._

_Don’t they deserve to die?_

* * *

In the cages, there are dishes, bowls, troughs for the hounds. In them, Kisuke sees arms, legs, unidentifiable pieces of humans. 

The sight and smell would make him _sick_ if he was not so intimately acquainted with the scent of blood and sight of injuries already.

He… he hadn’t known that the hounds are raised on a diet of _human flesh_. 

He wishes he still didn’t.

He has to take a moment. Multiple moments, in fact, to pause and close his eyes and stop breathing before a numb, cold kind of anger can blossom inside him. The kind of cold rage that whispers to him before he goes to sleep that he ought to kill every man wearing a mask, every man that he can find in this place, just like he’d hunt down every single assassin who ever attempted to kill his Empress - and then hunt their employers.

He continues walking.

Some of the cells have no hounds, just leftover bones, and the occasional trinket that he can pilfer. Out on patrols, probably. Killing people, maybe.

The largest pile of collectible _things_ is held in a room where a swarm of rats resides, a room locked with a combination lock. The incinerator room, it seems to be, left unattended too long.

He does not feel secure enough here to risk simply running through every combination, and leaves it be.

Instead, he walks on, reluctantly examining the cages and walls.

Notes hang on some doors of the hound cages, on the walls, on the control panels to open the hound doors.

One of them reads,

_It is of utmost importance that you do not open cage J without my approval._ _Voracious_ _is ill and quite temperamental. Should his cage be opened, he might attack and endanger anyone patrolling the kennel._

_Signed,_

_Hound Master Warton_

On the wolfhound’s – Voracious’, presumably - door is another note. 

_Voracious has fallen ill. I have gone to fetch some medicine for the hound, but in the meantime DO NOT open his cage. He is prone to fits of violence, and this would endanger the other Overseers in the building,_

_Hound Master Worton_

He snorts. Perhaps they should not feed the hounds human flesh, if they want them sane and behaving themselves - and not trying to eat _them_ , too, trying to eat those Roving Feet and Restless Hands and the rest of it.

He blinks, and thinks back to the note he found earlier.

Tongue. Eyes. Hands.

Strictures numbered two, one, and three.

He heads back to the locked room, considering how to deal with the rats - they might not eat him, but they would sure try to eat the Overseers - and raise an alarm to boot, perhaps.

The shrapnel springtrap is relatively quiet – he could open the door, chuck in the two he’s found lying around, and stab the rest.

And he could _slow time_ , too, once it comes to stabbing, if he has to.

The combination works, the springtrap shreds a bunch of rats into so much meat and bones, and lets him run in to stab the rest, before scooping every shining object out of the pile of charred corpses. The rats seem disinterested in him, scurrying away to a far-off corner, and he books it outside, shutting and locking the door behind him in haste. He Flickers up to the pipes, just as an Overseer hurries over to investigate the quiet commotion.

His power is exhausted, and he feels the headache viciously settling in his skull – but he still has blue vials, and downs one while sorting his new acquisitions.

Bullets, two grenades, a coin pouch, and a bonecharm. Half-useless, really.

Time to leave for the Back Yard, then.

The door to it is not _quite_ in the main lobby room, and Kisuke notes that the civilians have left already on his way there. 

Must have gotten what they needed, and possibly left a _donation_ in return for the advice given.

The door leads to a room overlooking the Yard – open to the wind and fresh air that feel wonderful after the horrific stench of the kennels.

He Flickers around the tops of the buildings, Vision active to see if there is anything of value inside.

He finds a deserted kitchen, where he snipes a sleeping wolfhound with a dart, removing it afterwards to leave no traces, and partakes of the selection of fruits and hams. Carefully, he wraps in towels and stores in a satchel over his back a securely-packed box of tea, and some non-perishables. Some for him, some for the servants back at the pub. (He makes a mental note to find a second clean satchel, perhaps, so he can bring back more foodstuffs without the risk of contamination)

There’s a workshop with windows that patrolling Overseers can look through, but raiding it is more than worth it. He picks up blueprints for improving the crossbow, and with a bit of lock picking, acquires not just more ammunition, but over two hundred coins worth of blood amber carvings.

And then he stumbles on something quite curious.

A table and chairs, littered with spare parts for… constructing music boxes?

He picks up a note.

_I left you a copy of The Ancient Music so you might familiarize yourself with the principles I’m employing in this latest variation of Holger’s Device. Or the music box, as most call it these days. You should know, it produces harmonies that render inert the heretical energies, “magic”, inert through counter-balancing mathematical principles, cancelling them out. Read the book, and then make yourself of use by finding us some subject to test it on. With this city drowning in superstition and heresy, you do not need to look far._

_Signed,_

_High Artificer._

...It might be nothing, but... he has to know for sure.

He approaches the intact music box on a chair, and starts winding it.

The music that pours out is… inhuman, unmelodious, eerie and droning. There’s a sharp, stabbing pain behind his eyes and around his temples, and his power feels _gone_.

Hastily, he leaves the handle be, and the music box falls silent.

It actually works, which is a concern - for later. He should certainly be on the lookout for them.

At least, they’re easy to hear from a distance, and thus avoid. Or should be. 

He has no idea of their range.

But he is fairly certain the abominable music can be heard from a block away, at the least.

He leaves the workshop.

Some of the other buildings are empty or abandoned, and he picks up another couple of bone charms, rescued from hordes of rats – and seriously, what is it with rats and bone charms - and the workshop meant for charm destruction, evidenced by the piles of bonedust and grinding instruments.

Can they hear the whale song? Or perhaps it is the smell? Is there truth to the rumours that the Outsider brought the plague?

He can try to find the answers to that. Later.

It is as he rounds a corner of the building to examine the narrow passageway between the Office and a cliff, the passage itself leading back to Holger Square, that he hears signs of an altercation.

In an underpass, three Overseers stand, two of them arguing with the third - and pointing at the woman standing nearby.

“-a witch, Berthold, a witch! You know what is demanded.”

“I swear, brothers, you don’t know her, she’s my sister, she’s not-“

“You must not listen to her lies, brother!”

He sees the two Overseers go for their weapons, and makes a decision.

With time slowed, he is faster with his darts than they are with their pistols, and the two Overseers stumble and collapse.

He Flickers down, out of sight of the Overseer and his sister, then walks down the stairs to divest the unconscious men of their money. The duo stare at him.

“Thank you for saving us!” the woman whispers, clearly in awe. “Here, here’s a key to the safe in the bunkhouse. Please, take it.”

He catches it as she throws it at him, then lets the two pass by him, up the stairs, and walk away. Through the nearby door to Holger’s Square, maybe.

He’s not sure if he should do more. But he has nowhere to take them, nowhere safe - and the Loyalists would likely refuse to have them around. 

Hopefully, they can get away from the Overseers safely on their own tonight. Or at least find a place to hide and regroup until morning comes, and curfew is lifted.

The bunkhouse the safe is supposed to be in contains a grim scene.

From the open window in the roof, he watches as three Overseers surround a fourth, tied to the chair.

“Please, brothers, have mercy, it is only a cough, it is not the plague!”

There is blood on his mask and clothes, and Kisuke is fairly certain that he is, in fact, ill. And unlike himself, won’t be getting better, despite his protests.

One of the other Overseers shoots him straight in the head, not listening to the plea. Blood splatters. 

“We’ll have to clean the stain up, treat it with vinegar,” one of the Overseers mutters, and he and his brethren start to haul the corpse away. Probably to give to the hounds, or burn, as per their traditions. He waits for them to be gone.

He Flickers down, empties the safe in the other room, and then investigates the Overseer’s mail room, reading the notes and letters. Knowledge, never _not_ useful. Almost, anyway.

Of them all, the most _interesting_ is the letter addressed to Berthold.

_Berthold,_

_I found a brother attempting to put a package in your post box, meant to be found. I believe it to be the evidence of your_ _sister’s_ _involvement in witchcraft you referenced to me earlier. I would have stopped him, but he threatened me with taking her place on the fire. Take her, and flee._

_Your friend and brother._

It doesn’t matter to him whether the woman was actually a witch or not, not _really_.

Far from everyone who pleads with the Outsider does so intending to harm, he should know. And in this time of plague… many plead for their lives, turning to anyone who might listen.

The Heart offers little more information, and there’s nothing else to find.

It is... interesting to hear about the Overseers from it, he admits.

Some are cruel, living for the slaughtering of heretics. Some are faithless. Some _believe_ in the ideals, but despise the methods.

Yet, from the way they act, one would think they _all_ thrive on the fear they spread. Intent does not affect the outcome of their actions. 

* * *

_He clears the backyard with no mercy or hesitation, sparing only the Overseer with his sister, but never letting them see him. The two zealots harassing them fall to crossbow bolts from above, and he Flickers away too far and too fast for the stunned duo to see him, high above._

_He’ll wake up soon from this dream, he’s sure._

_And all this blood will be wiped clean._

* * *

There is a sheer drop at the edge of the Back Yard, and down it, he can see a boat and a familiar, waiting figure. 

Samuel.

Unfortunately, there is no easy way down.

No steps he can Flicker to, no outcrops, no hanging chains – well, there is a set up for one, and a short length of it extended downwards, but nowhere near _enough_.

He considers. He can Flicker when he jumps… he ought to be able to Flicker when he _falls_. He could fall for a short while, then Flicker to the ground before he gains too much velocity to land safely. 

He climbs down the chain as far as he can, dangling off the very end, and lets go, preparing to Flicker.

Air rushes past him, disorienting, and holding the golden lines ready is too hard, he can’t see how far above the ground the targeting still is, but it looks far, far further away than he thought before, the drop much higher-

And then his hand twitches and lets the power _go_ and he Flickers far too early and not far enough and his body hits the stone after a brief, panicked fall.

The pain makes him black out for moments. Or maybe he’s hit his head, because everything is dark and shaky and everything _hurts_ . He’s stuck the landing and his legs feel _shattered_ now _,_ like someone took a sledgehammer to them, again, and there’s a painful stabbing pain in his chest- a broken rib? A punctured lung?

He needs one of the red vials. Now.

Someone is carefully turning him over, calling his name.

He can’t reply, of course he can’t reply, but he can twitch a hand to show he’s alive.

The mask is pulled off his face, while he fumbles desperately with one of the pouches. He shies away from the touch – he cannot risk infecting Samuel, if there is blood on his face, on _anything_.

Some of the vials are broken, glass rustling under his fingertips, cutting and pricking him and he curses internally, but his fingers close over what seems like an intact vial.

Samuel notices what he is doing, and then the vial is taken from his hand, uncorked, and brought to his lips without question or hesitation.

The pain of the bones righting themselves is almost _worse_ than the impact was, but he gulps down the foul liquid, and feels himself get _better_. Bones snapping into place and body forced into functionality again.

Not completely restored, he realises, feeling _aches,_ a certain exhaustion and fragility settling in him. But not crippled or dying.

Another vial goes down, bitter and disgusting, and perhaps he shouldn’t be drinking his- fourth? Fifth? Sixth? Vial of the night, shouldn’t risk damaging his stomach or liver or heart.

Samuel helps him sit up, slowly, carefully, like he’s still injured.

This was a- stupid, _reckless_ decision. Too confident in his powers. And so tired. Tired and sick and not thinking straight, taking so many unnecessary _risks_ tonight. Far more than he should have.

There’s no one else to do this, so he has to succeed, he can’t- he can’t fail, can’t actually keep making bad choices, he can’t... his thoughts spin further out of coherence.

He vaguely feels Samuel guiding him into the boat, letting him curl up on the bottom, mask clutched in his hands.

Everything still hurts, even if there are no injuries. Just hurts.

The motor starts running.

By the time they return to the pub, Kisuke can sit up straight, and almost pretend he doesn’t see the concern on Samuel’s face.

There’s no _need_ for that worried expression. He hadn’t been trying to kill himself, after all,. not even unconsciously. He _hadn’t_. 

“That was a neat trick you were trying to pull there. Pity you mistimed, I suppose. Don’t worry, I won’t be telling anyone, of course, it’s not my secret to tell, even if I figure half the nobles own runes and charms themselves. I hope your mission went well. People who say they serve the peace… well, maybe they shouldn’t use violence. Him being dead, now...”

Kisuke shakes his head, slowly.

Samuel blinks, and looks surprised. 

“He’s alive? Well... the others won’t be happy...“

Using the hand that hurts less, he makes a so-so gesture, and tries to mouth " _Dealt with”._

Samuel laughs in surprise.

“Suppose you found a different way to sort that out then, like with Coldridge. You’re a good one, Kisuke, don’t let the others make you think otherwise. Or do otherwise.”

It is… good to hear that.

Callista greets them at the shore.

“How- how did it go?” She asks, voice shaking, and it takes him a moment to collect himself, to realise she’s asking about her Uncle. “Is he alive?”

He nods, and she looks… so relieved.

“Thank you so much. Here, take this,” she says, offering something small and shining.

He shakes his head. He didn’t do this for a reward.

Callista looks surprised, but shrugs it off, going to fetch Kurotsuchi and the Loyalists instead.

“So, how did it go?” Havelock asks him, eager, and Kisuke wonders if he made the right decision. Should he have obeyed the request to the letter?

* * *

_“Tousen is dead. I left no trace, other than that,” Kurotsuchi translates._

_Kisuke doesn’t see fit to mention any more details than that, anything else he got done._

_It’s not like he’s being asked about that anyway._

_“I killed them all,” Kurotsuchi repeats after thim, and then looks warily at him, uncertain. Like the bloody stains on Kisuke’s coat aren’t enough to convey the slaughter that happened mere- minutes? hours? ago._

_The Loyalists look troubled, not hiding it_ quite _well enough, and Kisuke winces internally. That was not what they wanted, was it._

_“I suppose that will serve us… well enough. The Lord Regent will be quaking in his boots, at the very least,” Havelock says eventually._

* * *

“I gave him the Heretic’s Brand - he will be cast out and forgotten by the morning,” Kurotsuchi translates, his face showing clear surprise. “No one saw me tonight who will report me.”

“Good, _very_ good. Your skills, then, have surpassed even our highest expectations.”

Havelock’s smile is unsettling. “That will work well for us, if they don’t even know someone’s after them yet. That’s good.”

He does not tell them about Granny and her assignments, or Griff, or the rescued servant, or the Overseer and his sister.

There is no need for them to know about irrelevant details, and no cause to care. Not really.

“I have something here.” Kisuke retrieves the audiograph cards from where he put them in the bottom of the boat in a sack, and hands them over. “Audiograph cards, daily journals and blackmail information on high ranking Overseers. They might be useful.”

Teague, standing nearby, looks delighted.

“We’ll have the Abbey brought to heel with ease, I don’t doubt. Thank you, Kisuke!”

Now he just has to drop the stolen goods and food. And then he can go rest.

In his apartment, he washes himself, cleaning off the traces of blood from the injuries sustained with that fall, and falls into bed.

He is so _tired_.

The mission took- so much out of him. Too much, maybe.

He hopes the next one won’t happen for a while.

* * *

_Hours later, in the privacy of his apartment, he breaks down. He sinks to the floor, as a wall of numbness comes tumbling down and leaves him shaking with horror._

_He killed… he killed. His rats tore them apart and his bolts took them down and he killed so many._

_He is sick in the bathroom, shaking and sobbing and unable to_ understand _. What did he_ do?

 _What had_ broken _in him, in his long months at Coldridge, leaving him no kinder than Soi Fon? Had he been like this... had he_ always _been like this?_

_Surely… surely not. Surely Yoruichi would never have been friends if inside he had been- this, all along._

_No more blood, he promises to himself. He can’t dishonor her memory like this, can’t kill_ her people _._

_If he is acting in her name, in her memory, he can’t do this again. He will never be facing the oppressors of her people again, after all - just the citizens, in the future._

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are the best, so if you could drop a line or two, I'd be extremely grateful!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooops forgot to post this yesterday!  
> Hope you enjoyed it anyway - I'd love to know your thoughts, dear readers, so feel free to leave a kind review!

Kisuke regrets giving the audiograph cards to the Loyalists, because now he doesn’t have _any_ access to them whatsoever – and stealing them back may not be a very endearing action. Not one that he can afford right now. So he has to sit idle. Wait.

Useless until then.

Completely and utterly useless.

He walks in circles around the buildings, trying to work off the nervous energy, a hound straining against a leash, waiting for it to finally give in, frenzied with bloodlust for the next target.

It’s almost like being back in the cell again, waiting for permission to leave. He just has more room to walk around now.

Two days later, Kurotsuchi catches him on his fifteenth circuit around the pub of the day, a bundle of something in his arms.

“Hearing you walk past my workshop every five minutes is giving me a migraine,” he says flatly, and dumps the bundle in Kisuke’s arms. “There’s a shooting range and some targets behind the pub, you must have seen them. Go bother it instead of me.”

Unwrapping the cloth, Kisuke blinks. The bundle consists of crossbow darts, a pistol, and a bunch of bullets.

Unfortunately, with his arms full, and the mask obscuring his face, he can’t even mouth a ‘thank you’. He nods instead, and hopes that gets his feelings across.

“Now, please, leave me in peace so I can do the work I was _hired_ _to do_.” Kurotsuchi makes a vague shooing motion in the direction of the back yard, and Kisuke goes.

This at least will be more productive than just pacing around the building or Flickering across rooftops - he _does_ need more practice.

It has been _quite_ a while, after all.

Run, aim, shoot, roll, shoot again.

It’s tedious, even with how creative he’s started to get with the position he’s shooting from - combat is never as nice as letting him stand and pick off enemies from a distance - but it’s better than the pacing. He can imagine the Lord Regent’s face on the heads of these targets, at the very least.

He walks over to retrieve the crossbow bolts from the three targets. The straw bags that make up the heads are close to being torn to shreds - the fifth time this week.

They need fixing again, before they stop being pincushions, and start being complete scrap.

Another lecture from Kurotsuchi about being kinder to equipment it is, then.

Maybe he should give him more of the stolen items to sell on the black market, to placate him.

And maybe ask him to improve the mask optics. He’s always less testy when he has something interesting to work on later, more prone to talking about the mechanics of weapons and poisons and machines that could be used to make more machines, with the use of electricity and whale oil and the most precise crafting possible while stitching the target heads back together, than continuing to hiss about the waste of time it is under his breath.

“If I knew I’d have to keep doing this, I’d have let you keep walking,” Kurotsuchi sighs. “Can’t you bother someone else? Or better yet, learn to stitch yourself?”

Kisuke could ask, maybe, but it’s easier not to have to mime his requests, or have to write them out. And easier to not deal with the staring. Or the frightened yelps at the sight of his mask.

At least Kurotsuchi seems neither troubled by him, nor disdainful. Annoyed, at most, but he’s annoyed by _everything_. He doesn’t discriminate.

Kisuke watches him work with the straw and cloth and needle, biting his lip in concentration, every stitch the same as before. Perfect.

Perhaps this wouldn’t take him so long each time if he stopped being a perfectionist, actually.

“ _Maybe I’m just doing this to spend more time with you,”_ Kisuke tries to joke. 

“Don’t make me laugh.” 

He shrugs. 

Annoyed but unafraid does beat the other conversation options.

Afraid. _Right_. He wanted to get something from Kurotsuchi, after the mission.

“ _I might find it useful to have a cloth doused with a mild relaxant or sedative. For my missions. Something considerably less potent than chloroform.”_

Kurotsuchi frowns, and stares at his face, like the mask will just vanish to show the expression underneath.

“I have something that _could_ work, as long as you don’t have any allergies...”

“Sir, Admiral Havelock is requesting your presence,” says Callista, entering the workshop. 

Is it time? Kisuke abandons the wall he was leaning on, and stands up straight.

“He’s waiting behind the bar - by the targets.”

Ah. So that’s who’s responsible for the repeated gunshots at this unholy hour of the morning.  
He nods his thanks, and goes, Kurotsuchi abandoning his work on a new pistol prototype to trail after him.

In the time it takes to get there, Havelock manages another round of shooting the targets in their straw heads and reloading the gun. 

Despite the darkness of the early morning, the amidral succeeds in hitting bullseye.

Kisuke claps as he approaches, drawing the admiral’s attention to him.

The admirals nods, reloading the pistol again.

“You are here - good. Your next assignment is to investigate Kugo Ginjo and his house. Martin’s contacts said he’d be at home today - he only got back from a whaling expedition yesterday - so finding him will not be an issue.” Havelock pauses, and shoots one of the targets. “Search for clues, question him - and the servants too, if you have to. Then eliminate him.”

“The audiographs haven’t-”

“No, the cards you provided have not revealed her location, unfortunately - Tousen was far more concerned with recording tidbits of blackmail and rumours, as well as lists of executed heretics.”

“Useless, then?” Kurotsuchi translates for him.

“No, not entirely. Martin will be able to use the information to at last bring the Abbey to heel and reign in the undesirable… excesses they resort to. There’s information on nobles, too - Lord Ukitake will make good use of it, I’m certain.”

Well, at least there’s some use to the cards then. 

“Do you have any questions?”

“Where is the house?”

“Estate district - Aster Lane. It’s a large estate, big garden, large whale sculptures by the main entrance.”

He has a decent idea of where that ought to be - and how many places could have whale sculptures? ...Admittedly with how much of Dunwall ran on the whaling industry, perhaps finding the house would not be as easy as that.

“Thank you.”

“If that’s all - now would be an _excellent_ time to depart. Kurotsuchi - stay here, I have some questions for you.”

Kisuke bows shortly, and leaves, fighting the temptation to eavesdrop. It’s none of his business, most likely.

His _actual_ business may get much harder if he doesn’t hurry up, and get in the boat.

“Time to set out again, eh?” Samuel smiles when he sees him, but there’s something strained about it - but in the dark, he can’t make it out.

The boat goes up and down as he settles in it, and he glances in the direction of the training area. But it’s too high up and too far to see now.

The engine comes alive, and the boat sets off.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kisuke watches the boatman. He can see an expression that looks like… concern, if he has to name it, when Samuel occasionally turns around to check on him. Or perhaps sadness?

Why?

He stares at the greying sky, the horizon slowly getting stained with yellows and oranges and reds, clouds almost _shining_ where they hide the edges of the rising sun. 

He hopes he won’t miss watching another sunrise again.

“We’ll be docking at an Estate District harbour - one of the few still allowed to work, since the nobles demanded it. A friend’s put the boat on the permitted list; I shouldn’t get any trouble, long as the guards don’t see much of you,” Samuel says, as the boat finally approaches the shore. “They’ll think I’m just waiting for the noble who hired me to show up with fishing gear or some such.”

Kisuke frowns, and stares at the shore.

Even at this hour there are guards pacing around - how is he meant to go unnoticed?

Although...

“I’ll get us close to that building first. You can do that trick of yours, I reckon, go up to that lamppost, and the guards won’t see you.”

Simple enough.

Kisuke Flickers the moment he gets in range of the lamppost, eyeing the nearby loudspeaker as his next possible perch, when the loud crackle and subsequent _blast_ of sound nearly sends him leaping from the lamppost in fright.

“ _The High Overseer Kaname Tousen has been removed from his position due to breach of the Strictures. The appointment of the next High Overseer is pending. Citizens are to keep an eye out and report anyone acting suspiciously, or anyone practicing witchcraft,”_ the loudspeaker announces.

Kisuke groans, and presses a hand to his chest, his heart still hammering.

He should have expected that, probably. 

* * *

_“With the death of the High Overseer Tousen Kaname, the appointment of the next High Overseer is currently pending. Citizens are to keep an eye out and report anyone acting suspiciously, or anyone practicing witchcraft. Citizens are to exercise the greatest caution, as the murderer has not yet been identified nor apprehended,” the loudspeaker announces._

_Of course they haven’t. He’d made sure no one saw him - and that City Watch Captain is clearly a man of his word._

* * *

He turns to the riverside, and waves at Samuel.

The directions… Aster Lane is deeper into the city, so… 

Kisuke sighs, and tries to focus. Things are concerningly hard to remember as of late. 

But surely, a mere _map_ shouldn’t be so hard.

If he follows this street, he should… turn right at the intersection with Rose Garden Alley. That should bring him to Aster Lance eventually.

And hopefully the right house will be obvious when he gets there. 

Time to Flicker along the rooftops.

He checks the attics and houses that show signs of being abandoned.

Not even nobles are spared from plague and death, it seems. Some have _food_ that isn’t too rotten. (He is missing breakfast time, after all.) Some have trinkets of value that the looters - more commonly known as the City Watch Lower Guard - had missed, hidden behind furniture or under carpets or in secret compartments.

No Weepers in the houses, however - not even their corpses.

The Watch is far more diligent here - or more well paid.

The Heart beats furiously under his coat when he approaches one of the _inhabited_ houses, however, and he pauses, considering. Certainly… if it is a shrine in there, the risk would be worth it. Buf if the residents are awake…

He Flickers down to a balcony, Vision active, and stares through the walls. 

He can see the outlines of the runes, a room away - and in the same room, two figures. One lying on the bed, apparently having a coughing fit, and one sitting next to it in a chair - asleep?

Risky, but…

He picks the lock on the balcony door, and walks inside.

Now, he can hear the coughing - loud, rasping, _wet_ coughing. Plague victim coughing, he’s almost certain.

The ill person is a Weeper, or close to it - and their companion most likely infected already.

The door to the room is open - and he can see the runes, lying on a table, surrounded by a couple of lanterns, and the merest scraps of fabric. A shrine, if not a very dedicated one.

He slows time, and crouches as he dashes up to the altar, grabs the runes, and returns to the balcony. There are vague sounds of alarm behind him - the sleeper has woken up - and he immediately Flickers upwards, to the roof, as the woman dashes over to the balcony, and looks around.

He watches her frown, and shake her head, before walking back inside.

She doesn’t look sick. A carrier, maybe.  


He stares at the runes in his hand, and wonders why the Outsider did not appear at this shrine. Is the task today too trivial? Or is she too busy? 

There’s a cut on his hand, and he picks at it, until there’s enough blood to activate the runes, have them merge with him.

Should he try to spend the power now, or wait? If he has enough to stop time completely-

No, he doesn’t- he doesn’t feel like he does.

He pulls the Heart out as he Flickers deeper into the City, to check for any more nearby targets - but they’re all in inhabited houses, those that have more occupants, the shrines far deeper into the houses.

Kisuke refuses to risk detection - or identification - again. Not even if, _perhaps_ , the nobles so deserve a little _retribution_ for partying while the rest of the city is going down. And not even though the guards on the street certainly deserve it for shooting anything that moves during curfew - even workers hurrying home far too late.

He avoids the City Watch Office building like the plague when he stumbles on it.

He’s forgotten that was there, staring at it as the Heart in his hand thrums.

But there are too many people, far too alert for him to dare poke that bloodfly nest - even if there is a store of artefacts meant for the Abbey inside it.

It’s light enough now that there are people trickling in to work - and light enough, that with the improved optics on his mask, he can see the posters on announcement boards - warnings, news, wanted posters. Things that people look at as they pass, quietly discussing them.

Kisuke pauses, staring at one of the sheets.

His _own_ wanted poster.

In the sketch, his hair is a lot neater, his face more clean-shaven than it is now. Far less worn and haggard. They’re clearly using that old portrait for reference, him and Yoruichi together - if they haven’t torn it down and burnt it or some such.

The reward for him - dead or alive - is thirty thousand coins. A bounty to set a man for years and years – or, with good management and investing, for life. A fitting bounty for the killer of an Empress.

There’s other posters too, not just his own. Demands for gang leaders, a _mysterious masked assailant,_ and a strange thief.

Those are probably also meant for him.

* * *

 _A_ _nd there’s a poster for the unknown killer of the High Overseer, a twenty thousand coin bounty for them._

_Fifty thousand coins for Kisuke’s head, all told._

_If he turned himself in, could he claim the money, run away, rescue Emily, and then retire in peace afterwards?_

_He snorts._

* * *

It is as he pauses to Flicker from one roof to the next, that he spots something… rather _interesting_ in an alley.

Two men with an eleven marked on the backs of their jackets and coats – thugs, obviously – standing out of sight of the street and examining a map, both of them looking unusually Morleyan for this area of the city.

He Flickers to a balcony over their heads, and listens in to their hushed conversation.

“The owners have run off and died trying to leave the city, some day or two ago. Rumour is, they left the signet ring and deed to the house somewhere inside, didn’t want to get robbed for them – would be easy enough to forge ownership transfer. Reckon we can get in before the City Watch takes the place?” says the bald one with tattoos on top of his head.

“They’re starting to gather outside, so no, not unless we want a fight.” The other man is shorter, and dressed _almost_ like a noble – a noble who carries weapons, grenades, and the mark of a gang on his back, anyway.

“It’s a noble house, they have a secret exit or entrance somewhere – you gotta know that, _Fourth Seat_ . And when have we ever been _scared_ of a fight?”

“Not an entrance that we can get to without breaking a spine, and I want to own this place _legally_. That’s the whole point. The guards knowing about a break in would defeat the purpose of getting a legal headquarters for us. Perhaps we could hire one of Shinji’s men...”

Kisuke considers them, and then takes out the Heart.

“ _They see honour in combat, in fighting. Their gang runs fighting rings whatever Isle it moves to. Racketeering is only for testing novices; they don’t care for the money, only for the fight.”_

Interesting.

“ _The two may fight, but if the Abbey had permitted, they would be more than friends._

_“They are not dishonourable, in their own way, and all debts will be paid back honestly.”_

He taps his chin thoughtfully. They’d pay him, at the very least, if he does this for them… At the most, the gang might owe him a favour, too, if his current allies prove... not as _loyal_ as he needs them to be.

He takes out his pad of paper and the pen, scrawls a note, and Flickers down to the corner behind them.

He taps his foot on the floor to draw their attention, and holds up the paper while they curse and turn around, drawing their weapons.

“What the fucking- Ey, Yumi, you can read them letters, what’s this fucker saying?” the bald one hisses at his friend, eyes fixed on Kisuke’s mask.

“ _I can steal what you need if you tell me where it is, for a price.”_

The thugs eye him suspiciously. 

“And why the fuck should we trust you?”

Kisuke writes another note.

“ _Don’t need house, do need favours.”_

The first man stares at him, then shrugs.

“Well, if you want to risk your neck for us, I ain’t complaining. It’s the house with the black front door, on the other street side, with them silver knockers and handles. Got some guards loitering around. Don’t take too many valuables from inside, mind, and don’t get noticed. Do it, and you get that favour.”

Kisuke nods, puts the paper away, and walks out into the street, avoiding the attention of the guards, and Flickering upwards as soon as he can.

The house is indeed easy enough to identify – especially thanks to the two low-ranked Watchmen debating how much they could steal once they get inside.

He assesses it.

The front door is obviously not an option – and the only balcony is three floors above the ground, and two floors down from the roof.

There does not appear to be a _back_ entrance, at least not one that he can find after a cursory examination. Perhaps there might be one via the sewers, but he cannot be _certain_ , and doesn’t particularly want to go down there on such a fine morning. And doesn’t want to drag the stink of it around, either.

The balcony is a bit too far to flicker directly to, even from above – and he remembers last time he tried to Flicker mid-fall.

He walks another circuit around the roofs, looking at it from every angle.

All the windows closed and boarded, breaking in would be _noisy_ . The lamp posts are too far away. If only he could Flicker a little _further..._

The runes in his bones burn away.

He curses. 

Not the most useful power that he could have acquired, but if he can avoid breaking bones again… well, it will pay off in the future. Hopefully. And it’s not like he doesn’t have _any_ runes left, now - frankly, Flicker and Vision alone would likely be more than enough for his missions.

The rest are a ridiculous luxury that’s he’s lucky to be able to afford.

The interior of the house is as opulent as he expects it, if in colours that haven’t been fashionable for years. Not that Kisuke keeps track of such things, of course.

He does know _enough_ that for someone to decorate their house in pink and purple silks, they must have more money than they know what to do with, because those dyes are expensive on this isle, and even importing directly from Morley - such decorations only exist to flaunt wealth, really. If in slightly unfashionable ways.

None of the doors to the multiple floors are locked - clearly, the vanished residents are not expecting Dunwall to remain standing long enough for them to ever risk returning.

He doesn’t care to move about quietly - his Vision reveals nothing living, after all, and he is free to search for the ring and papers at his leisure.

Keeping the request in mind, he does not steal more than a few hundred coins’ worth of items. By his estimates, that’s less than a third of what all the smaller items around the house are worth, and that’s ignoring the paintings and statues and fancy clothes.

The family portrait painting, however, he ends up taking with him. It bears the distinctive signature of the Royal Physician herself, and Kisuke can’t bear the thought of letting the work be in any way lost. 

Hopefully Kurotsuchi will be able to find a good owner for it - or maybe one of the Loyalists would keep it.

The ring and documents are waiting for him on a desk in the main study along with the ownership transfer documents, signed by the previous owner, and already bearing the official court seals. 

_To whoever may find this letter,_

_Let it be known that we have no intention to ever return to this place, and while rumours of our death may reach you, we ought to be safe and alive. The thought of this house falling into disrepair saddens us, which is why we wish to hurry the transferring of ownership._

_Your own name, signed on this paper, and submitted to the court, will be sufficient._

_Please take care of our former Gristolean winter residence,_

_Yours Sincerely._

That is... very optimistic of them, counting on a random thug looter caring to read the note and realise the house doesn’t need to be ransacked. But it is convenient.

There’s not much else in the house for him to find. The kitchen is empty, and a dead wolfhound lies in the cellar, decomposing. Kisuke is fairly certain it was shot, put out of its misery by a family that could not take it with them. 

Well, that’s all here. Time to claim the reward.

The thugs seem surprised to see him return. Is it the speed?

“What, given up already?”

Kisuke shakes his head, and produces the signet ring and papers, along with the note.

“Outsider’s _tits_ , how the _fuck_ -“ The bald one breaks off, and shakes his head. “Our lucky day this is. All thanks to the luck luck dance, must be.”

His friend looks over the documents carefully, lays them down, and signs the ownership transfer document. Then he straightens up, and pulls out a small badge out of an inner pocket.

A weird, large-tailed bird with an eleven on top of it.

“Token of gratitude and friendship – if you need our help, or anyone else in the Eleventh gang, just show them this.” He tosses it.

Kisuke grabs it out of the air, and places it into one of his pouches.

These two must be very high ranking, for a badge made of _gold._

He barely looks up in time to catch the heavy money pouch flying at his head.

Monetary reward? That’ll be useful.

“Maybe you ought to think about joining us – much more fun to be had with us than the other gangs, and you could make a tidy profit with these skills - especially if you fight as well as you sneak.” Not-baldy frowns. “That mask... you’re not one of Shinji’s men, are you? You know, we’d give you a _lot_ of coin if you bring us the head of that fucker Ginjo, and you wouldn’t have to go through your leader, would get to keep the entire bounty...”

That is an interesting possibility.

“ _How much is he worth?”_ Kisuke writes.

“Eh, three thousand for his head, maybe. And the key to his house.”

He considers it, as he leaves.

The Loyalists want the man dead, most likely; so does this gang, who is also offering a reward for him.

What kind of man is Kugo Ginjo?

There’s a house with an abandoned attic overlooking the grounds of the estate, and Kisuke Flickers in through the dark, open window, hoping to take advantage of the attic being slightly closer than the high roof - a more useful viewpoint.

He immediately regrets it.

Inside, the place is _beyond_ filthy. Dirty, and _teeming_ with life, plants and fungi taking over the space, insects and worms and maggots buzzing and crawling and squirming around three corpses piled in a corner. 

Corpses that Kisuke has less than zero interest in examining, because whatever killed them, is definitely none of his business.

There is a surprisingly clean table in the middle of the room, a large cooking pot placed on top, and a note left beside it. Did the dead men do this, or did their murderer do it? If there was one, of course.

“ _Dearie, if you could help me out a little – please take the dead white wolfhound from a nearby house, you know the one, and bring him here, to this pot. Of course, you’ll get a present in return, dearie._

_Your Granny.”_

Surely not… Does he want a rune _enough_ to deal with a decomposing hound?

He sighs. He does indeed.

It will be worth it, he tells himself, dragging the stiff, stinking corpse with him, hands wrapped in towels to avoid touching it directly. Flickering instead of walking even a _step_ to spare his strength. After spending runes on improving his ability, he _will_ benefit from having more stored away for an emergency. 

And this request seems innocent enough on its own, and most heresy and potions are not nearly as effective as advertised, anyway. Even if the three corpses are giving him some… doubts.

Hopefully the smell of the hound will not cling to him till the Isles sink back into the sea.

The horrific reek _doubles_ when he finally drops the hound on the floor of the disgusting little hide-away, the now four corpses emanating an impressively foul odour, to put a Weeper den to shame. He retches a little, and tries not to breathe. How much worse would this be _without_ the mask?

He picks up the rune that now lies near the pot, and Flickers to the roof to escape the odour - before he ends up announcing his presence everywhere he goes with the clinging stench.

There are multiple viable entrances into the house itself - as long as he can cross the gardens without being seen.

The time of year precludes there being much foliage in trees, so Flickering through them might not be of much use in terms of stealth - especially if any branch _breaks_. Still… Better than being on the ground level.

He just has to time the movements right, so he can get on the building’s roof, and then choose the access point - attic, one of the open windows, a balcony...

And for timing, he needs the patterns of the patrolling guards, now.

He checks them out idly with the Heart, listening in to what it has to say.

The one at the gate to the estate, first.

_"This one has kept a lock of hair from everyone he's ever killed. Unless he dies tonight, he will kill twice more before ending his own life."_

_Shit_. That’s not an issue he wants to have to deal with.

_"Each time he kills he sees her face. He can never undo what he did."_

He can’t take this one out without alerting the others, and... and is he certain the Heart tells the truth, always? Yes, he is, but what then, what is he meant to do with that knowledge?

He’s just trying to get out of being responsible, isn’t he.

A second guard is in range.

_"There are few men who can drink as heartily as this one. He eats rat to keep up his strength. He thinks only of whores."_

Has the quality of all the Watch men fallen since the Lord Regent took power. Or have they always been like this?

 _"Only fools and weepers openly confront the Watch,”_ the Heart whispers unprompted. But it is not a clarification.

He hasn’t much hope for the third one, but-

_"When not at his post, he searches for his sister, missing a week now."_

He _can’t_ know someone’s whole story from only a few lines. And he is not in a position to fire or imprison them.

Still, with the killer… He’ll have to figure _something_ out.

After he deals with his primary objective.

Time to watch the guards walking around.  


Guard by the gate turns to watch the road, his two co-workers walk off in the opposite direction, and a fourth guard walks past in the street.

So.

He just has to Flicker to the top of the gate topped by a whale statue, then to a large tree branch right as the guard goes past it, then another and much higher branch, and then to the roof. Hopefully, no one will be looking out through the windows at the time.

He almost slips off the tree when he tries it, the bark smoother than expected, the branch weak and shattering under him, and only barely Flickers to the next in time. 

The guard’s noise of alarm reaches him on the roof – but the man seems to be more _startled_ , rather than _certain_ that there is an intruder to be found and eliminated.

He can see him, wandering about and poking barely leafed bushes, checking for any sign of something _off_.

Well. He just has to be _careful_ now, because this guard might tell another, and then they will all be just a little more alert, just a little more on guard, twitching even at _quiet_ noises.

But as long as they don’t tell anyone in the house...

There’s figures moving through the place. Servants, or guards, or both. And among them, the target.

He’ll search the house, top to bottom. Start with the attic, and hope he finds what he needs without having to get through too much of the house.

All the attic windows are open - for airing the place, most likely. Maybe some rats died there, or some such.

But there’s not even the hint of a smell when he hops inside.

The place is large, full of boxes, locked chests and piles of fabric – but there is a clear space with some furniture in one part of it, right next to the upstairs bathroom. A small bed, a tiny cupboard, a table, a chair.

Someone was _living_ here… but there’s enough dust on the surface that it’s been at least one or two weeks since then.

Could it be...

There’s nothing left in the cupboard, on the table, or under the bed – or even between the bedframe and the mattress – but tucked away in the almost non-existent space between the wall and cupboard is a piece of paper. Fallen in haste of clearing out the space, or hidden on purpose?

He fishes it out with ease – suggesting an intentional placement – and stares.

It’s a drawing – a child’s drawing, rough and odd and lacking details – but even without the scrawled writing, he wouldn’t doubt for a _second_ that it’s a drawing of Yoruichi.

Lady Emily was here, recently, and he starts gently folds the drawing to tuck it under the front of his coat, where it should be safe and sound. Then he notices something. 

Written in messy black writing on the back of the page is a note.

_The scary men were talking about moving me to the Golden Cat because Kisuke escaped. I hope it’s better than here._

_I miss my mother._

_I hope the things they say about Kisuke aren’t true. I hope he comes to get me soon._

A stray tear or two leak out of his eyes, for no reason at all, and he blinks them away.

He _knows_ where to find her, now. There is no cause for _grief_ or sadness - only happiness. Here’s solid proof she’s _alive_ , and more or less well. And here is the information he needs on her location. 

_This is not bad news._

Now he just needs to explore the rest of the house for anything potentially useful, and figure out whether to kill the owner - or find a different way of disposing of him.

The floor below the attic is being cleaned by a maid, who is muttering to herself, when he walks into the room. Kisuke flinches away when he hears her, dives under a table to hide, but she passes into another room, instead of remaining in the corridor.

There is the master bedroom here, surprisingly _lacking_ an excess of extravagant décor, and a private library of sorts – as well as a locked room that turns out to be full of things that are… guaranteed to give _most_ people a very _good_ _time_. None of the rooms have anything incriminating in them, however.

The office contains the owner of the house himself, and Kisuke decides to either wait for him to leave before searching it for anything of value, or leave the room for last, and search it after he deals with the man.

There is another _personalised_ bedroom on this floor, next to the master one, but other than some more books, it offers no hint as to the identity of the occupant. A wife? A mistress? A relative? Whoever it is, they do not seem to be here.

The floor below it seems to be composed _entirely_ of guest bedrooms. There is a concealed space along the separating walls of some of the rooms, barely wide enough to walk through – and, as it turns out, only accessible through concealed hatches in the upper floor. Some of the stuffed animal heads turn out to have peepholes through the eyes, although sometimes the hole is in the panelling, made to look like some ornamental whale plaque or knob.

Perfect for spying on guests.

How- _noble_ of the man _._

The floor underneath the bedrooms has large, spacious rooms – parlours meant for entertaining guests, one with musical instruments and chairs, one a library, another with plush sofas. Many of them – most of them, even, have whale-themed decorations. Definitely the owner of a whaling business, and not just some investor or a ship captain.

There is also one enormous dining hall, clearly meant for important dinners, and a large open space in the lobby meant to double as a space for dancing – which he doesn’t cross, because there are servants still cleaning what seems to be the leftovers of a recent party. Very recent, and very _wild_ party.

Celebrating a successful haul?

That would… place the kitchen in the cellar, then, since he hasn’t come across one yet.

Except, for some odd reason, there are two ways to get there – one via a discreet staircase bordering the dining room, and one via two locked doors that need a combination and a key before getting to the staircase.

He goes the easy route, first – but finds only a kitchen, a pantry, and a wine cellar – with an oddly large stock of expensive alcohol, even for a noble. There’s more than a fortune in those bottles.

The two satchels he brought with come in useful, as he ducks, dodges, and flickers around the busy cook to collect spices, tea, tinned meat and fowl and fruit from cupboards and boxes.

Below the cellar, however, there seems to be another floor - with more objects shining there. And the Heart beating, indicating bonecharms or runes.

But the Vision does not reveal any way to access that part of the cellar, not even hints of a secret door.

The only way in must be via the locked doors.

How interesting - what else could be in that room, that it is so well-hidden?

Well. Time to go steal every key he can find, and hope that he can pick the combination lock himself.

It turns out that there are _very few_ kinds of keys in the place, and all of them are conveniently labelled.

Front door key. Guest room keys. Pantry key. Attic key.

Conspicuously absent is a master key, and Kisuke suspects that there may be only one copy – and servants are only permitted to clean inside _certain rooms_ under supervision.

He makes another circuit of the house, listening for any enlightening gossip - and waiting for Ginjo to leave his room, until he hears a conversation between a butler, and what seems like a new maid.

He perches on top of a wardrobe, watching the two.

“They say he keeps the smuggling records in the house – do you think it’s in the other cellar?” The maid is cleaning the windows, turned away from the butler pacing by the empty fireplace.

“We’ll get to find out soon enough, Marl. I have a copy of the master key – don’t ask me how – and I’ve hidden it under one of those blasted whale statues that I have to polish and rearrange every day. Do you have the combination?” 

“Not yet, but I’ll keep trying to find it – maybe if I get permission to clean his office…”

“Damn, Marl.” The butler stops, and crosses his arms. “We need those records – we need to blackmail him for as much money as we can before our house gets seized all proper-like because of too many undealt-with Weepers in the building.” He turns away, and walks off.

“I know, I know. I’ll do my best,” Marl whispers.

Well. Now he knows how to get through one door.

The key shines in his Vision once he knows to look for it. Walking around the room to get it, he notes that each statue is embossed with a different date – dates of extra successful hunts, perhaps, but that still leaves him with the problem of the combination lock – the lock that turns out to have four digits, rather than the three digits he’s seen _literally everywhere else_. Nine hundred ninety nine combinations are easy enough to go through given time, but just one shy of ten thousand? 

He does not like his chances, and he might not have the time.

Perhaps… 

Someone smart might pick an insignificant number, a random sequence of numbers only stored in memories – but then, there’s always the need to write something like that down, just in case.

He wanders out of the room, eyes skimming over the statues as he paces around the room’s edge, thinking. 

There are so many of them. Rearranged, constantly, almost giving an _excuse_ for a random inspection of them.

His eye catches on an odd number on the base of one, at odds with the proudly displayed plaque.

One nine three four.

That’s not a possible date.

And- surely, it could just be a typo, the plate says one eight one four, and yet... the owner seems _obsessive_ about the details of these statues.

The lock clicks when he enters the code. 

Kisuke makes sure to close and lock both doors behind himself, before proceeding downstairs.

A faint coppery scent reaches him as he goes down. Blood.

The room he descends to is lit by dozens of purple lanterns, walls swathed in fabric, whale bones - ribs? - and vertebrae lining the walls and floor.

A massive Outsider shrine is at one end of the room, two heavily bloodstained runes and a shrivelled human hand lying on the altar. A _Marked_ hand.

Grimacing, he picks the runes up – and the world fades.

The Outsider stands before him, hands crossed on her chest, watching him impassively.

“Kugo Ginjo is a man obsessed with power and the Void. Long ago, he had witnessed the feats of a Marked one, and later killed them for their hand – a hand that now grants him a long life free of disease and aging, and prowess with a blade that is, perhaps, only to be matched by you at your best.”

Ah. So getting into an actual swordfight with him is certainly out of the question now. He is grateful for the tip.

“He spent years duelling and murdering on the seas, before finding that slaughtering whales is more profitable. As well as smuggling items and people from Pandyssia, and dealing with gangs.” She turns around, picking up the hand, examining it.

“The hand’s power is fading with the decades, and he is turning desperate. In this room, Ginjo is searching for immortality in the blood of heretics, looking for sparks of the Void. Not killing his sources, of course. He pays them well. He’d pay more to the one who’d bring him the hand of the assassin Shinji Hirako.”

She puts the severed limb down.

“A murderer, a slaver, a whaler, a smuggler - and now, a kidnapper of the daughter of the Empress. Which of those crimes will you kill him for, obedient hound of the Loyalists - or the gangs, or justice, or the dead Empress? He keeps records of his crimes in his office. Would you read them and act as the judge, jury, and executioner?”

She watches him intently.

And then she’s gone, the room several degrees warmer than before, no longer supernaturally cold.

He forces himself to examine the rest of the room, ignoring the smell of blood.

There is medical equipment. Nothing that could be used for torture, other than the scalpels, perhaps. Several bottles of chloroform, and a convenient rag. Might be useful, if he needs to knock someone out today, and not want to waste a sleep dart.

A tank of pure whale oil, blue liquid appearing purple from underneath red cloth, sits in a corner and he ponders it.

The Overseers would murder this man if they found this place, even if no one has died in this room. If, however, the City Watch were _not_ to find anything heretical when they came to arrest the man for his crimes… The Overseers would not get involved.

If his crimes were exposed, he’d merely be imprisoned.

* * *

 _But Kisuke does not care for nobles, and certainly not for this bloodfly._ And he wants a little more evidence that the Lady is currently in the Golden Cat. She might have been moved again, after all.

_He sneaks back upstairs, fakes a commotion outside the office by shooting a class gace with a crossbow, watches Ginjo leave it to see what happened._

_He hits the man on the back of the head, stuffs a chloroformed gag in his mouth, enough to disorient but not knock out, and wraps rope around his arms and torso and legs, trussing him up, before Flickering with him to the blood room in the cellar._

_The chair is easy enough to strap the struggling man into, and he cuts the shirt off him, leaving enough space to work with._

_Nobles, squeamish, squishy, never_ truly _get their hands dirty._

_He doesn’t need finesse to get answers here._

_Without being able to talk, it will be hard to question him..._

_But then, he only wants to communicate one question._

_He tears down the shrine, piling it up like so much odd kindling for a pyre, careful to extinguish the lamps and shove them aside._

_The canister of whale oil opens with some difficulty, and he pours it over the pile._

_And then he stands there, waiting, the severed Marked hand held in his own._

_“H- wha- No!” Ginjo cries out when he finally comes to his senses. “I don’t know who sent you, but I swear, I can pay better than them. Just let me go, and I swear, you will be richer than you ever dreamed of.” It doesn’t take him long to gather his wits._

_Kisuke holds out the drawing._

_“I have no idea-“_

_Kisuke raises an eyebrow, then retrieves a candle, and holds up the Marked hand to it._

_His intent is evident, because Ginjo panics, breathing harshly, straining against the ropes again._

_The hand is within a hairs’ breadth from the flame, when he snaps._

_“Stop! I gave her over to the Pendletons two, three weeks ago! She’s in the Golden Cat now, I gave her to them, and I didn’t do anything while she was here, I promise, we kept her in the attic but she was fine, I keep my promises! You can take my book, too, it’s in a secret compartment in the desk- take my money, the statues, just don’t burn the hand!”_

_As if money will be enough to pay off his debt, wipe the blood from his hands for leading to Yoruichi’s death. As if he can be pardoned for her daughter’s imprisonment in an attic._

_He sets the hand on fire, and Ginjo_ screams _._

_Frowning, Kisuke sticks a sleep dart into his neck._

_He’ll need to burn everything in this room - and leave the man somewhere upstairs._

_Time to find those records and take them to the Watch._

* * *

_T_ _he beheading is quick and clean._

_He should take the records to the Watch office, for them to know what kind of man lies dead now._

_And deliver the head to those gang members._

* * *

_Whales are kept alive until every ounce of oil is extracted. He doesn’t have the equipment, here, for that- but there is the blood draining equipment that he hooks up to the man._

_He glances briefly through an attached manual, to figure out how to operate it._

_Stick needle in vein, turn some knobs, and it will start sucking all the blood up._

_Easy._

_The man hisses in terror, realising what is going to happen to him._

_Kisuke doesn’t smile under the mask. The man deserves it, it is as simple as that._

_The blood is not being collected into any kind of containers, and so flows onto the floor, a steady stream of red._

_He waits, sitting down on the floor to rest his legs, and watches the futile struggle to escape._

_He must be able to confirm the death, after all._

_“You’re- you’re the Empress’ dog, aren’t you? The Lord Protector,” Ginjo hisses out eventually. “The Regent said to not worry, that there was not even a chance you would know we were connected. You killed Tousen, too. Massacred every Overseer at this office. How the Empress kept your madness on a leash, I won’t even guess at.”_

_It does not take long for him to pass out._

_It does not take him long to stop breathing._

_When he stands up, he notices that blood has seeped into the hem of his coat – again._

_He will have to wash it thoroughly, to avoid leaving a smell to haunt him._

* * *

_He could kill- but no. No, he swore. No more blood. No more._

_He’ll burn the altar, drag the man upstairs out of the fire, take the records to the watch._

_This scum deserves Coldridge more than he deserves to die outright, anyway._

* * *

He could, very easily, gain access to the office without being seen, or having to wait too long... and avoid the Overseers being called in here.

Tearing down the clothes and drapes is easy, and he throws them in a pile over the altar and lanterns, before placing the hand on top.

The whale oil tank is heavy, true – but he doesn’t need to do more than move it to the top, making sure there is nothing incriminating left around, before he tosses a grenade at the tank, and runs up the stairs.

The explosion is loud, and he only creeps back long enough to check that the entire pile has caught fire, before booking it upstairs.

Soon enough, the evidence will be gone, and the bones will, hopefully, seem like nothing more than trophies from one of the first whales that his ships had brought back, trophies of success, of the beginnings. Perhaps the fire will spread higher, up the staircase, into the house. Perhaps he might need to set another one for the rest of the house to burn.

But for now… he just needs the smoke to start filtering upstairs.

He doesn’t close the doors behind himself this time, and Flickers through the house until he’s perched on a tall case next to the office door.

It doesn’t take long for someone to smell the burning.

“Master Ginjo! The doors to the private cellar are open, and there’s smoke billowing out!” It’s one of the servants from the ground floor, running up the staircase, screaming her head off.

The man hurries out to go see for himself, locking the door behind himself.

Kisuke frantically picks the lock, and dashes inside.

There’s no secret room or compartment in the walls, not that he can see... and here, at least, there is only one shelf of records, and the desk to look through.

He slows time as he skims everything he can reach – but nothing looks out of place, nothing coded, nothing significant. Surely, the man does not carry his records on his own person? Admittedly, it would be the most secure way to store them, and know that no one had access to them.

Nothing, except for… 

The largest drawer of the desk has a false bottom, and Kisuke ends up just shattering the wooden pane with his sword hilt, not sure he has enough time to figure out the locking mechanism.

Underneath are several books. He takes them without caring to look through them, hearing footsteps on the stairs.

The balcony door isn’t locked, thank the Outsider.

He rushes outside, and Flickers to the roof, just as Ginjo starts running, alarmed by the open door.

His Vision shows him the man hurrying over to the shattered desk drawer, and curse loudly, before starting to move around the room, gathering things seemingly at random.

Should he give him enough time to get away, and end up living homeless, penniless, and a wanted fugitive? That would be a deserving fate too.

He spends a little while on reading the latest entries in the journals – nothing useful to him, or the Loyalists, other than the single entry about the _royal goods_ being transferred to the Pendleton’s care two weeks ago.

And... Pendletons do frequent the Golden Cat, Kisuke knows. They just have to confirm that they’re there weirdly often and that there are too many guards around too often. And they’re friendly with the owner - so stashing Lady Emily there would make some sense. Especially considering Tousen and his men would have been a mere street or two away if they were needed.

The City Watch office is unsurprisingly rather full of people, and Kisuke ends up slowing time, Flickering to a windowsill while the local officer’s head is turned away, and depositing part of the records of illicit dealings on the officer’s desk, before Flickering away.

This will be enough to leave him a wanted man.

At the last second - he remembers.

He has to deal with the killer.

Kisuke watches him, waits for him to be out of sight of others, and snipes him with a sleeping dart.

Leaving him on a roof… well, that might make him reconsider his life choices. Maybe.

Hopefully.

Kisuke drops the chloroform rag over the man’s mouth and nose.

Perhaps he might sleep until tomorrow, with that.

* * *

_One man, one killer. Surely, he is allowed… Surely, there’s no other way?_

_He’s killed Tousen and Ginjo only - one more man would be a big addition._

_But he can’t see another choice, as he snipes him with a crossbow bolt, and Flickers his body into the filthy hideaway, to hide from the other guards._

_He would have died anyway, later._

_What’s a few hours’ difference?_

* * *

He gets back to Samuel with no difficulties, and notes that smoke is already rising above the rooftops – more smoke than chimneys would account for. The fire must be going well.

“Done?”

He nods, and pulls the drawing out, showing the scribbled note.

“We’ll go there as soon as we can - I swear, but you look tired, Kisuke. We can’t go today,” Samuel says, shaking his head. 

Kisuke hadn’t meant that, but he doesn’t care to clarify.

And doesn’t argue, now that the thought is crossing his mind. He simply doesn’t have the energy.

His life might be _insignificant_ next to his duty, but he cannot do his job when he feels as lightheaded as he does now, as tired and exhausted.

His cheeks are damp with unbidden tears.

* * *

_Samuel looks- tired, or perhaps, disappointed, when Kisuke returns, stained with blood, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s happy enough to see the note from Emily, however, and Kisuke pretends that the earlier disappointment doesn’t sting._

_He’s trying to do his best. He is. Why isn’t that enough?_

_Why is his best_ never _enough?_

* * *

Teague, the only Loyalist waiting for his return, is not happy about the partial records, but he sighs, and tries to smile anyway.

“I suppose giving them to the Watch means Ginjo is dealt with... but think, all the money we could have taken from him with that knowledge, or what he could have told us about the Lord Regent! I would have liked to see all of his notes for myself, but I suppose I trust your memory. The audiographs do confirm a Pendleton connection.”

Teague pauses, and Kisuke nods.

“We will send you on the mission… in a few days, I think. Her retrieval is paramount, of course, but we must not make it seem as though the Regent’s friends are being hunted by supernatural misfortune, and besides, it would be good to attempt to confirm our findings.”

This is more or less what he expected.

He bows, and leaves to clean and deliver the stolen goods to the servants.

“Thank you for the tins, Kisuke – this will be enough to stretch our food supplies for a while more, and Admiral Kyouraku promised to stock up on some more food for _everyone_ , not just food for the nobles,” one of the servants – Lydia, he thinks – murmurs, while Callista coos appreciatively over the multiple cans of preserved peaches. The nobles and admirals have been eating through their food with gusto. “The tea’s a right fancy thing, we’ll share it with Samuel and Higgins – and _Kurotsuchi_ too, I suppose.”

Callista throws her a _look_ . “Be nice, he’s not… as much of an ass as he likes to act out of sight of the nobles. He just wants to be left alone, I think, especially by Admiral Kyouraku. He doesn’t _hate_ any of us. Just- wants to be alone.”

Kisuke decides not to mention that he’s only given them _most_ of the tea.

“…Thank you,” Kurotsuchi says grudgingly, sniffing the now-open package of tea, the outside of which Kisuke had been very careful to disinfect. Like with the other supplies, of course.

“I have a new magnification idea for your mask lenses, but I’d need you to take it off briefly, so I can check something before going ahead with the additions.”

“ _I can do that,”_ Kisuke signs.

He takes the mask off, closing his eyes to enjoy the feeling of fresh air on his face, and hears a hiss of surprise.

Kurotsuchi is staring at him, eyes fixed on his face. Like there’s something on it.

Kisuke blinks, and tilts his head in question.

“How long have you been sick?” Kurotsuchi whispers, quiet enough that his voice won’t carry.

How does he… 

Kisuke brushes at the corner of his right eye with a finger, feeling a vague dampness, and it comes away stained red.

The tears, earlier. They were not tears. 

Not the emotional kind of tears.

There is… No point denying it, he supposes.

“ _I was infected before I escaped Coldridge. The symptoms started showing the day after escaping.”_

Kurotsuchi hums lowly.

“That is certainly quite a while. Longer than most victims live. You have _clearly_ reached the weeping stage, too, the one that is meant to be the point of no return. Do you cough up blood, too?”

“ _Some.”_

Kurotsuchi stares at him, and then starts pacing around the workshop, stroking his chin in thought.

“This explains why you refuse to touch things or go inside, the risk of contamination stops you. You don’t take the mask off… the plague affects vision – the lenses compensate for any problems you are having right now, don’t they?” He stops pacing. “What were the first days like?”

“ _I could barely move around the house I was hiding in. For- I am not certain, even now, how long the delirium lasted. Days, perhaps”_

“The prison… after those conditions, you _should_ have died a week into it. If not then – you _should_ be dead or dying now, your brain too damaged for higher functions, for speech – no offense meant. You should me an aggressive Weeper. Or two weeks dead.”

Golden eyes stare at him, almost... hungry.

“What is letting you get through the stages of the plague without extreme degradation? It is known that some can carry the plague without illness – courtesans are the only ones spreading the plague faster than rats – but a partial illness? With a chance of recovery? _How_?” He’s almost manic with excitement now.

“ _I don’t know.”_

“We have to find out. We could cure the whole city if we could understand how you are clearly more resistant, replicate the effect of whatever you are doing or have taken-“

The quiet hope behind words spat out almost _viciously,_ is… it hurts to hear it. It hurts, because- because he can understand the desperation of someone not wanting to die. Of not wanting others to die, too.

But he can’t help. He can’t be of help, because he owes this _all_ to the Mark upon his hand, given by the Outsider herself, not to any quirk of biology or some miracle medication that he’s found.

He doesn’t realise he’s been signing until Kurotsuchi suddenly deflates, his frantic murmuring dying off.

“You are- a heretic? Is that what you mean?”

Kisuke checks that no one can see the two of them, and Flickers across the room.

Kurotsuchi flinches, and spins around, eyes wide.

“Outsider’s- Outsider. The tales are true- or, at least, she exists. I will not postulate that the ramblings of an Abbey thriving on hate and misery are correct.”

“ _She’s not much one for caring about corrupting humans, I don’t think. She can’t come to the real world, either, not that I have seen.”_ Kisuke hopes he’s not actually forbidden from talking about her. 

She hadn’t said...

“That is... _fascinating_ ,” Kurotsuchi breathes. “However, it does not mean that you cannot be used to derive a cure- the… supernatural, I suppose, may be in your blood. Or it may literally be altering your body to be capable of resisting and possibly recovering from the plague. If we can isolate the change, then replicate it… Make it stronger, make it work faster…” he trails off, staring into the distance.

Kisuke waits, and eventually Kurotsuchi snaps out of his thoughts.

“Whatever the case, it will be useful to run tests. We all drink full vials of preventatives here, but it would be nice to know if we _need_ extra precautions - or don’t need any, if you are, perhaps, no longer contagious.”

“ _I cleaned the packages with pure alcohol, and kept them in clean satchels,_ ” Kisuke signs, remembering. “ _You shouldn’t worry.”_

“Thank you.” Kurotsuchi pauses, staring at the pile of blue vials in the corner. “Hm. All those vials you are buying from me, you are drinking them to recover?”

Kisuke shakes his head, and wonders if he should say.

In for a coin, in for a fortune.

“ _The blue ones… give me more, ah, magic? The red ones heal me, to the point of fixing broken bones.”_

Kurotsuchi looks about ready to explode with excitement, and Kisuke vaguely wonders if that kind of rapid mood switch is actually healthy for him. Or natural, because he hasn’t seen that much flipping outside of some rather _interesting_ places.

“Right. That also might need experimentation - but for now, we must test your skin and blood to discern if you are infectious! After all, it will not do if you infect Lady Emily while attempting to rescue her.”


	5. Chapter 5

Kurotsuchi takes care to drape a piece of cloth over the chair Kisuke sits on, before rattling off a whole stream of questions, so quickly Kisuke can barely answer them, let alone remember more than a couple – “How much coughing? How often? Anything causing increases or decreases in frequency? Dizziness, uncertainty, delusions, violent outbursts, delirium, loss of cognitive function – any triggers for any of those?” 

He takes his temperature, a few vials of blood – one from each hand, to see if the mark leaves any residue in his blood, a vial of spit, and then examines his eyes, equipment sterilised both before and after.

He’s clearly not willing to take any chances.

“ _-so I have been drinking a few vials a mission - four or five, maybe, and more while I practice in the down time._ ”

“Do you have any idea of what you are doing?” Kurotsuchi looks legitimately _angry_ , and Kisuke blinks in surprise. “While your Mark is certainly aiding your health and recovery, I doubt that with your illness, it has enough leftover energy to deal with the self-inflicted organ damage.”

“ _What?”_

“Overindulging in either plague remedy brings its own problems - too much, and you are effectively poisoning yourself.”

Kisuke tries to arrange his face into an apologetic and pitiful expression, but it doesn’t seem to work. Kurotsuchi still looks very definitely _unhappy._

“No more than three vials per mission, do you understand? No more than five vials for every three days, or you may end up _dead_. I do hope you understand the severity of this - if the plague hasn’t left that large cranium of yours completely empty.”

Kisuke nods.

Kurotsuchi shakes his head in frustration, sighs, and then starts pulling out bottles and pill boxes with illegible labels out of a drawer, handing them over to Kisuke.

“Take one of each pill before you eat your lunch, rest for an hour, and then sleep for the next twelve hours. I don’t want you outside of whichever rat-infested hole you’ve found for yourself until after the sun rises, understood? And for Outsider’s sake, _stop eating garbage._ ”

He perches on the top of the shattered tower, watching, waiting for the Loyalists to finally decide on when they should send him off, on when they will _finally_ tell him he can go rescue her. 

The full moon is bright in the sky, casting an almost Void-like blue-grey light over everything. The chilly wind plays with his hair.

He’d relistened to the audiographs, combing them for more confirmation, but there hadn’t been anything _relevant._ Not even to his ears.

Kisuke blinks away tears, hot and sticky and bloody, softly shakes his head to clear it from the insistent ringing in his ears. A red vial is in his hand almost before he realises it, and he drains the whole thing, the bitter taste unpleasant as ever.

It clears his mind, makes it easier to focus. Not as good as he used to be able to. Better than the impairments he usually has to work with now.

And even if the Outsider herself has shown up in a dream to note that the damage to his functioning isn’t _permanent…_ it’s unpleasant. Irritating. A sharp mind is a better weapon than almost anything, and he hates that he doesn’t have access to it.

In Coldridge, he could at least still _think_.

Someone is talking nearby, quietly - then a raised voice rings out against the backdrop sounds of the river and the silence of the dead district.

Kisuke tilts his head, listening.

It sounds like it’s coming from the workshop, or maybe the river-side entrance to the pub.

He Flickers down, until he reaches the only inhabitable level of the tower, and then walks along the planks that lead to the top of the workshop - and then to one of the pub windows.

He crouches right at the edge of the roof, looking at the disturbance below.

Kurotsuchi is standing with his back nearly against the wall, his arms crossed defensively over his chest, head tilted up to stare at Kyouraku, towering over him.

This close, Kisuke can make out the words. It takes him a second to understand what they’re saying.

He hasn’t heard any of the Morleyan dialects for a while.

“-perhaps not today.”

“Ah, Mayuri, but I remember how you _enjoyed_ your work - I certainly did, and Juushiro _definitely_ wouldn’t mind an encore.” Kyouraku’s speech is slurred. He’s drunk, clearly. Very drunk. “Surely you want to _relax_ for a while, do something easy and uncomplicated?”

“Indeed, I _have_ had a busy day- however, I need to be awake early tomorrow morning, Urahara-san has requested-” Mayuri’s tone is warm and calming in that artificial way that Kisuke’s too used to hearing in the court, masterfully concealing an edge of testiness behind it. And maybe something else?

It is not a tone that he has heard from Kurotuschi before. Nothing remotely as deliberately _soft_ as it is now, not even on their first day of acquaintance when the man was likely doing his best to avoid being murdered on the whims of a mysterious and possibly unbalanced assassin.

Something about seeing the acerbic inventor being so- falsely _pleasant_ and _careful_ makes him _irritated_.

Kisuke can see Kyouraku pout exaggeratedly, and step forward.

Kurotsuchi shrinks back against the wall, with no room to retreat any further. One hand reaching out placatingly - with the other, he’s slowly reaching for something in one of his pockets.

Kisuke tenses too, drawing his own sword - he can dare to threaten, but he doubts that Kurotsuchi can afford to aggravate one of his employers, and Flickers to the ground a distance behind Kyouraku. Kurotsuchi’s eyes move to him, clearly noticing the flash of the Flicker.

“You said that last time, too. Are you sure you can’t-” Kyouraku still sounds pleasant enough, at least, but the position…

Kisuke walks, footsteps intentionally loud, and Kyouraku turns around - and then looks behind Kisuke.

“There you are, Shunsui-san,” Ukitake has apparently stepped out of the pub without Kisuke noticing him having approached the door, and he berates his lack of perceptiveness in his peripheral vision. “Come along, let us not disturb Kurotsuchi-san’s night, yes? Oh, and good evening to you, too, Kisuke-san.”

Kisuke watches him rest his hand on Kyouraku’s shoulder, then pull him away from Kurotsuchi.

The two of them really _are_ together. The court has that part right, for once - the relationship gossip is wrong more often than it’s right, usually. But this time...

The duo leave, and Kurotsuchi retreats into the workshop, nodding tersely at Kisuke.

He can see the glint of a sleep dart as Kurotsuchi stows it away.

“ _I’d have hated to waste another sleep dart on this bother, so thank you,”_ Mayuri signs, and then turns away.

The gate starts to slide down moments later.

Kisuke wonders.

“ _How did you wind up with this job?”_ Kisuke signs next morning, tired after a night of restless sleep, leaning against the wall. He hopes the inquiry comes across as innocent.

“Admiral Kyouraku recommended me. We have had occasion to meet some months before the coup, and he has hired me to make some odds and ends for him before. I assume he was quite pleased with the quality of my work, and my discretion... I suppose my knowledge of signs was another point in my favour.” Kurotsuchi looks up to stare at him directly, instead of over the top of the book he’s reading.

Interesting.

His legs ache in protest as he stands up straighter to stretch. Maybe he should ask for a chair? 

“ _Why_ aren’t _you in the Academy? You... seem the right age, and with your intellect and abilities, surely they’d give you a scholarship?_ ”

“I used to be, before I was expelled.” Kurotsuchi shrugs, in a ‘what-can-you-do’ sort of motion. “Someone found some reason to give the local Pandyssian the boot, and well, they couldn’t _not_ take the opportunity, when there was some noble, pureblood Gristolean scion who needed a place in the Academy. So I ended up on the street, and completely broke.” Kurotsuchi looks back down to the book, and turns the page. 

Kisuke can hear a faint tearing noise.

_“Where did you get the funds for a workshop and equipment and materials, then? Without a diploma, I imagine it’s pretty hard to find customers...”_

Kurotsuchi narrows his eyes, frowning at him. “If you think I am a _thief_ or some other criminal, you can rest assured - I worked enough to pay for all of my supplies before. Which, I might add, were not as many as there are here- it is only thanks to the Loyalists that I can afford all this.” He pauses. “As an escaped felon, I do rather think you are in no position to judge me even if I _was_ guilty of a crime.”

That is a fair point.

“A question for a question - how does a former Serkonan street rat like you end up as the bodyguard of an Empress? The rumours on the street can never quite agree.”

The thought of Yoruichi _hurts_ , and Kisuke takes a moment to collect himself.

“ _I won a fighting tournament in Serkonos, when I was thirteen.”_

“Not the Blade Verbena, surely?”

“ _The very one.”_

Kurotsuchi looks suitably impressed.

_“The Duke offered me a job and training - and during a visit by the Empress, her husband, and the heir… I was gifted to the Royal Guards, assigned as a bodyguard to Yoruichi for the duration of the visit, became good friends with her, and... she insisted that I be her Lord Protector.”_

“Huh.” Kurotsuchi sounds… disappointed, a little. “That is nowhere near as dramatic as the rumours put it.”

“ _What do the rumours say?”_

“At the very least, they say you foiled an assassination plan, and at the most - that you uncovered a conspiracy and fought twenty assassins to the death during a dinner party, which is the only reason a foreigner would _ever_ be appointed to the position.”

Oh. _That._

_“Well, there were only ten, and they were standing in a pond. And with the installation of the newly invented electric lighting, there were some very conveniently exposed wires nearby.”_

“Surely you don’t mean-”

_“I still feel very sorry for the poor fish that got cooked, yes. The men only passed out.”_

The hoarse laughter is- unexpected. Only Yoruichi really ever used to laugh at his jokes.

Of course, it wasn’t like there were a great deal of people he could speak to.

_He’s walking through the streets of Karnaca. The sunlight is warm, but there is no sun, and the sky is a purple-blue. The streets are full of people walking, but he pays them no heed. He has something to do._

_Something important._

_Deliver a letter, maybe?_

_A door leads him inside the Grand Duke’s palace._

_People mill about the place, and he walks past them, looking - oh, of course, it’s the ball again, and-_

_The letter, the warning, the assassins are close now, creeping through the cellars and corridors, waiting to strike-_

_He doesn’t have much time, he knows, and he has to choose - run and warn Lady Shihouin, or attempt to deal with the assassins?_

_The commotion should be warning enough, should draw the guards to guard the royal visitors._

_The wires spark and burn his hands as he tosses them at the wet floor, the pond. The men fall, burning, turning to ash._

_He doesn’t look back as he runs to the Lady’s rooms - where are the guards? - and flings open the door._

_A man in a whaler mask stabs Lady Shihouin, and vanishes._

_Kisuke tries to run to her, but the floor crumbles and he falls and-_

He wakes up in a cold sweat, unsure of where he is.

Coldridge?

No. No, too many blankets, his mess of a resting place still better than that slab of stone.

It’s cold, too cold, the fire gone out, the night’s icy wind creeping through the holes in the attic roof.

Kisuke shivers, and then breaks out into painful coughing, desperately stumbling to the bathroom, staining the sink with blood.

It takes- a while to subside, and he feels dizzy and _cold_ as he tries to light a small fire. Not for warmth, even, just to warm water enough to make some kind of tea, and some to wash his face.

Maybe... Kurotsuchi is awake already, although Kisuke is not certain of the hour.

It’ll be much warmer at his workshop.

And he’ll have more than his nightmares for company.

He’s in one of his better spells of health when the summons come in the short shape of an irate Kurotsuchi hollering at him from the base of the tower. 

He blinks sunspots out of his eyes, shivers in a breeze that dispels the momentary warmth of the sun’s light, and stretches, enjoying the moment.

Flickering down the levels, he lands next to Kurotsuchi, seeing a flicker of awe – and perhaps a little jealousy – on his face.

“A ridiculous and unnecessary display,” Kurotsuchi hisses, folding his hands on his chest, and leads him to the front of his workshop.

Pendleton is waiting there for them, looking rather unhappy, fidgeting with his sleeves. He looks up when he sees them.

“Ah, good, you’re here. I have asked to speak with you myself.” He takes a moment to gather himself. “You see, I am sending you to kill my own brothers. Custis, and Morgan. They are not the best of men, as you may have heard – cruel beyond description, sadistic, vile. They are also allies of the Lord Regent, and hold the votes for our family, leading our voting block in Parliament – as long as they live, we will not have a chance of truly making the Parliament make reasonable decisions” Pendleton pauses again. Kisuke catches a whiff of alcohol. Is he already drunk? “These days my brothers make a fortune of- well, not every family evicted for having the plague, actually has the plague. I have warned them- but they have not strayed from their paths. Today, they will be at the Cat, for their usual revels. And, we’re almost certain Lady Emily is there this very moment. Today is- today is the best way to deal with them both. Now go, before I change my mind.”

Then Pendleton seems to hesitate. “My brothers deserve their fates. Although, maybe, if you can- Never mind.”

He walks off, taking a swig from his hip flask, swaying.

Kurotsuchi raises an eyebrow in clear disbelief.

“ _He certainly seems to feel quite guilty about asking you to kill them, but- their deaths will leave him the sole heir. So do not take the grief quite at face value_ ,” he signs at Kisuke, his expression scornful, before saying out loud, “I have been commissioned to make certain types of _devices_ , for the Golden Cat at one point, and there is… something there I would be most grateful if you could retrieve.”

“ _What is it?”_

“The entire contents of one of the lockers in the private courtesan bathrooms and changing rooms – locker number one-three-one.”

Kisuke stares at him in incomprehension.

He has very much _not_ pegged Kurotsuchi for someone who would hire a man to steal the clothes of a random woman who had taken his fancy- but then, anyone can sometimes be _surprising_. Look at that snake of a Lord Regent, for example. 

Still. Kurotsuchi very much _hadn’t_ struck him as a pervert.

At least the man certainly seems a _little_ embarrassed by the request.

“ _I will see what I can do,”_ he signs at last, because- Kurotsuchi is doing him a favour by not revealing his condition to anyone else, and, well, surely he can do a favour in return, even if it is more than a tad _strange_.

Kurotsuchi slumps. 

“The VIP exit is under what is now a wall of light checkpoint – not quite in sewers, but a lower level of the street.” Kurotsuchi fishes around in one of his many, _many_ coat pockets, until he takes something out. “Here’s a key to it. Good luck.”

Kisuke nods in understanding, and is about to leave, slipping the key in a pocket, when-

“I know that, so far, you have stayed your blade from the targets.” His voice is quiet, hesitant, like he’s unsure he should be saying it.

“Those silver mines of the Pendletons are operated by slaves. They ship them from Pandyssia in certain whaling ships. They go into the dark tunnels- and then, then they never see the light again. Sometimes- sometimes, they take them from the streets here.”

Kisuke’s blood runs cold. Yoruichi had been- she’d passed laws, tried to make things better- but he hadn’t known that in the streets things were like… this.

Not from his lofty perch in the Tower.

“I suppose… it is up to you how you deal with them. Just as long as they get what they deserve.”

“ _I will deal with them in a fitting way.”_

Kurotsuchi nods grimly, and walks back into the workshop, leaving Kisuke to head to the boat.

Samuel waves at him when he sees Kisuke, looking serious.

“Ready to go to the Golden Cat to retrieve Lady Emily? I’ve taken Lord Pendleton there enough times, believe me, so I know the way. I’ll get you as close as I can – and you do the rest.”

They dock at Clavering Boulevard again, and Kisuke silently bids farewell to Samuel.

“Gonna be a lot of guards at the Golden Cat, with two Pendletons there. I reckon you won’t know where it is, you don’t strike me as the type. It’s just off Holger Square.”

He does know, but the reminder doesn’t hurt.

Hm. The Overseers must be _happy_ about the paragon of Wanton Flesh so close to them.

“The local gang leader, Slackjaw, might have some ideas on how to get in, or what to do with the Pendletons if you don’t want to kill them. He has some sorta beef with them. Talk to him – if he don’t kill ya first, that is. He’ll be at the Distillery, where his Bottle Street Gang is holed up.”

Kisuke signs, “ _Thank you,”_ on reflex, and is surprised at the acknowledging nod.

“Good luck to ya. I know the little lady must mean a lot to you – I’ll wait for your safe return here.”

A sweep with the Heart reveals that there are only two _things_ to be found in the vicinity – one in the doctor’s house, one in... another house that he didn’t visit last time.

Familiar with the safer routes that avoid the guards’ sightlines easily - especially important in broad daylight - by sticking to the shore-side, and then lampposts, window ledges, and balconies, he gets to Granny’s house with no issues - and not even a glimpse, even, of the guards.

Every entrance to the building, however, is bricked up, and his Vision reveals that it is devoid of all life - even rats. He wonders what made her move out – perhaps she got tired of the “gentleman callers”. Or died of the plague, or old age. 

Or the Watch got to her.

Suddenly, there’s a screeching sound in the back – not _behind_ him, more distant than that.

He spins around, sword drawn.

Some kind of Watchtower has been erected on the boulevard, the sweeping light that scans the surroundings now flashing red, as- _something_ explosive is being expelled in the direction of a group of Weepers on the bridge.

The thing hits with deadly accuracy, leaving nothing but charred bodies behind it.

A grenade, or perhaps a whale oil tank.

Well, he will certainly not be going anywhere _near_ the tower or the boulevard now.

He approaches the Distillery with caution, but the gang members at the doors only nod their heads when they see him, and the taller one calls out, “Slackjaw has wanted to talk to you, come here”. 

That’s… interesting, and possibly very useful. He walks past them, and they make no motion to attack - and he can’t detect even a veiled hostility.

If it’s an ambush, then they don’t know about it.

In the day, the yard bustles with even more activity than in the night, and Kisuke passes through, reaching the main building and going in through the unlocked door.

Inside, to his surprise, he is still not ambushed, the men cheerfully ignoring him as he passes them. 

Waiting in the office where he poisoned the whiskey, is the man he assumes to be Slackjaw.

He eyes him, and gets an appraising look in return.

“Heard you been _noticed_ around the area, dealing with interesting issues. See, half _my_ men are down with the plague – a rat must have gotten into a barrel of the good stuff some of the _idiots_ managed to steal from.”

He feels _guilty -_ that really shouldn’t have been enough viscera to leave people sick, however. 

“Some are wandering the streets now, getting picked off by the Watch. _Morons_. Regardless, I find myself short on labour – and you look like a man out on business on this sodden day.”

Kisuke nods.

“I have a man, see, an informant – my very best one. He was supposed to go to that doctor’s, Galvani’s house, get back. I don’t know what happened to him, but he hasn’t returned. I have no one else to send. Do me this favour, and I’ll do one for you.”

Well, he was planning to go there anyway… might as well check out what happened to the missing man, if he is still in the house, or even in the area.

He leaves the Distillery - and, yes, he’s still not ambushed. The request does seem to be genuine.

It’s only looking up before walking the sidestreet to Griff’s place that saves Kisuke from being spotted by the two men in Whaler masks on the roofs of the buildings outside the Distillery. He ends up Flickering right across the alley, to the end, to avoid a confrontation, which he doesn’t think would be- wise. Even with his powers, there’s no telling what the more experienced men could do to him.

He keeps an eye out for them after that, just in case there’s more. 

Maybe they’ve been hired to guard the area around the Golden Cat?

Could be.

Or maybe they’re investigating something else - or have a contract for something else. Who knows?

The doctor’s house is crawling with the Watch, but Kisuke takes little to no risks there, not daring, or caring, to pickpocket them. He retrieves a rune left in the place the rat entrails once were, and an audiograph card he finds near a dead thug _,_ the room locked off to be investigated the moment an examiner is free to perform an investigation of the corpse. He seems to- Kisuke isn’t quite sure, actually, what the _cause_ of death is. There’s no blood no strangulation marks, not even a needle-thin stab wound to somewhere vital. He just looks... dead, like he just dropped dead of pure terror. 

There’s deep scratches in the floor, like something long-clawed had passed through - a hound, maybe, searching for a killer, but nothing else. 

Eavesdropping on the guards reveals nothing of value, so he returns to the Distillery, passing by the house - an art dealer’s house, apparently, doors firmly locked - and the two Whalers without incident.

In the office, he and Slackjaw listen to the card together.

“ _Slackjaw, it’s me, Crowley. I’m makin’ this in case I don’t make it back. You was right, there is someone wants you dead. Wants ta take over the distillery – the whole Bottle Street Gang. And you’ll never believe who it is neither. At first I didn’t – that’s why it’s taken me so long. I wanted to be sure and . . . what’s that?”_

Then the card plays back growling, loud screaming, and cuts off.

Slackjaw looks disappointed, but shrugs it off.

“A deal’s a deal. Tell you what, actually – you do me another favour, and I’ll help you out a great deal more. See, I figure the only men worth killing around here are those two Pendletons; and I can help you deal with them instead of you having to do all that dirty-work, all quiet-like and no blood and no killing; put them to work in their own mines, I say.”

Kisuke considers it.

It would certainly be very _karmic_ , for those men to work in the very mines they got their wealth from, alongside all the people they’ve stolen.

He nods, signalling Slackjaw to go on with his request.

“There’s an art dealer nearby, has a safe I want to crack open, while we take everything else out the house too. Get the combination from him in the Golden Cat, and the Pendletons are good as gone.”

That is… something to consider as an option, so he nods again, and leaves.

Where there were rat swarms before, there are now half a dozen Weepers.

They take no notice of him as he passes – _definitely_ must some sort of smell that marks him as sick, they can’t _see_ well enough for anything else, and it can’t be the sound of his gait that identifies him as one of them.

Or maybe it’s some supernatural sense of sorts, if the plague has some sort of connection to the Void. Outsider only knows.

Unless the plague grants them some black magic abilities like his Vision, or something.

It is easy to sleep dart the lot of them, leaving them unconscious and scattered on the ground, as he Flickers through the rafters of the not-sewer passages, careful to not touch anything that might be stained with the plague.

* * *

_He kills them, and leaves the crossbow bolts where they are. Best not to carry tainted things._

_A quick death is the kinder fate, he is certain._

_This way, their suffering will not last._

* * *

To his surprise, he finds Granny Rags at the end of the tunnel, muttering to herself.

She turns to him as he approaches.

“Oh dearie, how nice to see you. Thanks for the help, it’s all been going so wonderfully lately!”

He has no idea how she knows it’s him. Or perhaps, she thinks everyone is the same person. Not impossible – less impossible than her being safe and sound despite all the Weepers, at least, and less impossible than his own powers.

Perhaps she too is infected, like him – but asymptomatic. And the Weepers know it.

“I can tell you a story. About the city, maybe? Or about the Empress. Regal, fair, kind, she brought hope and prosperity to us. And then was killed, violently, months ago.

“But her spirit lives on here, still in this city! Trapped, in metal and wire and leather, bone and bronze and glass!”

She can’t mean...

“They say she was killed by her most trusted one, her Lord Protector, a man who has since escaped his death and vanished into thin air, like a shadow, a mirage that was never there. And now, a masked assailant prowls the streets, they say, a cat-skull face for the dead Empress with the cat emblem.” She stares at him with milky eyes, like she can _see him_. “The Empress’ Ghost, they call them. Her ghost to haunt the city until everyone is just as dead as she is!” She cackles after the last words, a horrid, cracking sound, and then suddenly stops, looking… normal, unafraid.

Kisuke shudders, and backs away, his hands half-heartedly rising to cover his ears - but somehow, he can’t stop listening.

“I told you a story now, and perhaps you’ll tell it to someone else later. Change up the ending, perhaps?” she asks, kindly.

She wanders off, seemingly no longer interested in him anymore.

He wants to sink to his knees, in shock or surprise or horror, he can’t tell.

What she said, about… About the Heart.

It can’t be. It _can’t_ be. 

Too unfair and too cruel to be true.

And yet… and yet he finds himself believing it.

He pulls a small handkerchief out of his sleeve, sprayed with a mix of herb extracts and some relaxation drugs, and breathes through it, trying to calm himself, to focus.

It helps, if leaving him a little overly relaxed, and soon he can fumble his way around the key, unlocking the VIP door and slipping into the Golden Cat.

He has never been inside, and it is… he is not certain what the expected, truth be told.

The back staircases are simple and inelegant, but the first floor chambers that he examines from a sparse ledge and chandelier tops… Rich carpets, flower-patterned red and pink wallpaper, elegant screens and well-made furniture, scattered fruit bowls and flowerpots with Serkonan plants rising tall.

Courtesans walk around, dressed in outfits that barely go higher that their breasts, and barely – and sometimes not even that – covering their behinds.

What it is about them that is meant to be so appealing to people that visit this place, Kisuke will never understand. It’s just… skin. Everyone has it, don’t they? Unless he’s sorely misunderstood something about human biology at some point.

There are some guards patrolling around the place – some engaging with the courtesans, very, very clearly distracted from their duties.

Through a large door, with a note marking that “ _The art dealer is inside, waiting for Betty”,_ he finds a man sitting on a chair – a chair wired for electricity, and he can’t help just staring in _shock_.

Why on earth would a noble, or even _anyone_ , _want_ to sit in an electrical torture device? 

He pads around to get closer, but apparently the blindfolded man hears him anyway.

“Betty? Is that you? Good grief, I’ve been waiting long enough. Let’s get started – and the word’s Weeper, so you know.”

Well. If this is the right art dealer… this is a convenient set up, because pain would get answers out of him quite easily.

Kisuke grits his teeth. He doesn’t want to hurt a random innocent man - but then, apparently, the victim will be enjoying _most_ of it.

He has to take down the Lord Regent’s supporters. For Lady Emily, he has to do this.

He pulls the lever, and the man wails in- Kisuke would usually think in pain, except, considering where he is-

It takes several more times of pulling the lever before the man screams in earnest, and gasps out “ _Weeper!”._

Kisuke twitches the lever again, and the man _shrieks_ , before coughing out “You’re- not Betty. Why- what do you want to know? The safe number? I’ll give you the safe number, just please, not again! Six eight four one!”

A sleep dart to the neck renders the man unconscious, and he removes it afterwards. No need to leave a trace. Hopefully, everyone will think the man just passed out and had a bad dream.

He explores the Golden Cat inside and outside, time constantly slowed, even if he has to down five vials to complete the exploration – he can take Lady Emily with him on his way out, bring her with him to… well, Slackjaw will likely not be the worst thing she’ll have seen. But he can’t have her follow him around the place while he investigates - she’s safer wherever she’s stashed away, for this moment.  
Still… Even if after these months Slackjaw will not phase her - not after everything… He could take her to Samuel first, then double back to give the safe combination to Slackjaw.

The Heart has _miserable_ things to say about the place.

 _“The girls do not like this new Madame. She is not kind. Not at all like the old one.”_ That… doesn’t sound great.

_"The Golden Cat entertains important clients tonight. The Madame is worried. She must not disappoint."_

_"They ship them in from farming villages, bastard daughters and extra mouths that can't be fed, but only the prettiest get_ here _. The rest end up on the streets. Some come here of their own choices– some use the money to pay for learning, and leave if they get better jobs. Of course, that was before the new Madame, who takes a far larger cut of the pay."_

In private, without the makeup on their face, the women do look… worn out. Tired. Thin.

He watches them walk around the place, curious as to how they ended up here, and then asks the Heart.

Some of them, the Heart even says _good_ things about. A rarity in Dunwall, as far as he has seen.

_"She has a kind heart. She rescued an abandoned wolfhound pup and has raised it as her own. She dreams of being a huntress further inland, just as long as she can get enough money to learn to shoot from a gun.”_

Some, not so much.

 _"She is a plague carrier. Infectious, but not ill. And she knows it,”_ the Heart says, sounding _unhappy_ , and Kisuke can’t disagree with- her. (Privately, he wonders. Are any of the guards in Coldridge sick because of what they did with him?

Well. That’s karma, then.)

 _"A courtesan knows many secrets, and how to keep them,”_ she says idly about the place - and he makes a mental note to, perhaps, some day pay some of the women here to be informants. Royal requests should override confidentiality policies in most places - and it’s not like he wants to know anything other than planned _treason_ , anyway. Personal details are none of his business.

Could one of them here have warned Yoruichi about the Pendletons, about their plans with the Lord Regent? If they had been on the payroll at the time.

He’ll never know, he supposes, and keeps asking the Heart about each woman, sometimes more than once, as he sneaks through the building.

_"On the first day of the Month of Rain, she means to throw herself from the roof.”_

_"It wasn't her fault. There was a struggle for the pistol."_

_"Few enter this line of work by choice."_

Some of these are just... far too depressing to hear, he finds, asking the Heart about the two women in the dressing room, while he searches for the locker Kurotsuchi asked for. It’s one of the only ones with a lock, interestingly, but he picks it easily. 

There is an outfit inside, neatly folded – and clearly far more expensive than most of those that he has seen around today. Rich purple embroidered with black, or edged with golden frills; jewellery that is at least painted yellow, if not _actual_ gold – although, actual gold it may be. High-heeled slippers, too, and a delicate, beautiful butterfly mask. 

Not some _random_ outfit then – something _expensive_ , something that stands out. Does Kurotsuchi want to sell it off, for money?

He packs it carefully, and takes it, along with the bottles of… oddly familiar scented perfumes and oils, before slipping out of the room.

There is little left to explore – the room with the rune, and the attic.

The rune turns out to be in the Madame’s room, and he has to snipe her with a dart when she starts turning around at an unfortunate moment.

He doesn’t take the money, hasn’t been doing so in the whole building. These women have it hard enough.

He pauses, and turns the heart on her after taking the rune.

“ _She throws the dead girls into the river. She doesn’t care if they die for another’s satisfaction, if she gets enough gold for it.”_

He… could certainly ask Slackjaw to take this woman, too.

Yes. He’ll do that.

* * *

_He’s here to_ kill _the Pendletons. Might as well deal with her - she brings no good to the city, and he has no quick and easy way to deal with her. Slackjaw offered a deal for the twins, not her._

_He can’t leave her here, to make these women’s jobs, their lives more difficult - if not outright ending their lives for her own greed. He can’t._

* * *

He checks the attic rooms, one by one, his own heart starting to twinge painfully in trepidation with each room that does not contain a small, glowing figure of a human.

Surely, they haven’t moved her again?

Surely, the Loyalists and him hadn’t interpreted the clues wrong?

It is in the last room that he finally sees a child-sized silhouette, and his heart speeds up, thrumming with terror. If this is not her...

He opens the door.

The familiar girl inside has Yoruichi’s dark hair and golden eyes and stares at him, face empty of recognition - but _full_ of defiance.

Her spirit clearly hasn’t broken, thank the Outsider.

“ _Lady Emily. It has been so long. I’m sorry,”_ he signs, dropping to his knee and bowing.

She gasps, but holds herself back from approaching nevertheless. He looks up at her.

“ _They said you were dead. And_ then _they said they were going to kill you. And then they said you ran away so you could kill me,”_ she signs back. “ _I- I missed you, Kisuke.”_

“ _I am so very sorry for my tardiness.”_

_“Don’t be. It’s- not your fault, I know it. Let’s just leave this place, okay? I don’t like it here”_

She follows him to the VIP exit, talking to him quietly along the way.

“I tried to escape the attic, at the other place, and they locked every window after that. And then they had to bolt and barricade the doors because I still remember how to pick locks, like you taught me,” she giggles. “Here, I got as far as the VIP door, once, but didn’t have the key, and couldn’t pick it in time. That hag got more careful with me, I guess, since I’ve barely been able to leave the top floor since.”

He listens and nods along, and listens more intently for any signs of someone close by to hear Emily’s talking.

They pass through undetected, and when they go through the not-sewers, Granny Rags is gone – along with the unconscious Weepers.

Did the guards pass through… or did she do something with them?

They walk slowly along the path to the left, to the side of the street with the Bottle Street Gang and Griff and Whaler, and then climb the staircase – but the _main_ street is still full of guards, of course.

“ _Kisuke? How will we get past them?”_ Emily switches back to signs, looking concerned.

He considers.

“ _Have you been drinking the elixir?”_

_“A full vial, right from Unohana, they said. Every morning”_

_“Climb onto my back, okay?”_

He waits until she does so, confused but not questioning – not until he Flickers to the top of a lamppost, and then to the top of a roof, and she gasps.

He doesn’t have the free hands to tell her it’s okay, and instead keeps on Flickering, until he bypasses the Whalers, passes Granny’s house, drops down to the street, and then lower, to the river-side. He covers the distance to the boat in two Flickers, the thin arms still wrapped around him in fear of falling.

Samuel looks delighted to see them, a broad smile breaking out on his face, and he stands up to bow to Emily - but she only has eyes for Kisuke, eyes wide and concerned.

“Hello, little lady. I’m Samuel. I’m going to take you somewhere where it’s safe, okay?” Samuel says, and Emily looks at him, hurriedly curtseying.

“Nice to meet you, Mister Samuel.”

Kisuke taps her on the shoulder politely.

“ _Tell him I have to do something, so you need to wait for me just a little longer, okay?”_ he signs, and hopes she… she won’t _hate_ him for having the same powers as the assassins. Despite the remnants of fear in her eyes.

She looks like she has _questions_ , but instead just says, “Kisuke will need some more time, Mister Samuel.”

“That’s alright, he knows what he’s doing. You’ll just wait with me then, okay?”

Slackjaw is happy to get the safe code, and doesn’t even mind the written request to take the Madame along with the twins.

“Those men are twisted even for nobles, I tell you – something odd about them, something weird, and I’m not talking about their heartless chests. The woman- it’s a small favour, comparatively, and I guess I didn’t quite reward you for getting me the audiograph anyway.

”Guess now I just got to find who’s trying to kill all me men… Sure you don’t have time to help out for some coin?”

Kisuke shakes his head.

“Well, I suppose Shinji’s men gotta stick to their employer, don’t they. Don’t hesitate to drop by though, we always need a spare hand.”

He wonders if it’s the right choice, as he leaves.

They’ll live, yes - but for how long? And how much more terrible will that life be than a simple, clean death?

Is it truly a _mercy_ , to not leave their brother an only child?

But then - this fate is something _deserved_ , having lived off the money earned by slaves living and dying in their mines. _Do unto others what you wish to be done unto yourself_ , and all that.

* * *

_He goes back to the Cat. He has nobles to kill, after all, on the orders of the Loyalists._

_One of the twins is in a special room on the second floor, talking to a courtesan. Kisuke spares the girl, knocking her out with a sleep dart- but to the noble he shows no such mercy, shooting him through an eye with a crossbow bolt._

_The second twin is in a massage room in the cellar, with another courtesan accompanying him._

_He ends up just as dead as his brother._

_Now, they can’t inflict any more suffering on anyone._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are more than welcome!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. Late update.  
> Very late.  
> I know.  
> Last week my laptop was in repair so I couldn't post anything. Which is a valid excuse.  
> This Monday I just... forgot. Which isn't a valid excuse, but I was busy cleaning and doing reading for uni, so. Ya know. Maybe a little valid?  
> I forget this story exists when I'm not looking at it lol

Kisuke dozes on the way back to the Pub, initially only feigning sleep to escape questions from Emily that he doesn’t even know how to begin to answer - especially in front of Samuel. Not that he doesn’t trust him, but- 

He’s not ready to go into details, not yet.

It doesn’t take long for Emily to realise that Samuel is a fountain of stories, and so, through the haze of sleep, Kisuke listens to Emily chattering away with Samuel, asking him questions.

“Do the whales really sing?”

“Sometimes. You hear them out in the sea, at night, when there’s a whole pod of them gathered.”

“How big are they?”

“Big enough to eat this boat in a bite – but they wouldn’t, metal and wood isn’t to their taste. Oh, Kisuke,” Samuel says, turning to him. “I hope your other business went well, too. The Pendletons… they had it coming.”

Kisuke shrugs, barely hearing the question.

“What business?” Emily asks, curious.

“That’s grown-up business, girl- I mean, my lady.”

Emily laughs.

“I’ve heard plenty of grown up business at the Golden Cat.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Lydia, watching from the river edge, runs off shouting into the pub the moment she sees them in the distance – no doubt to fetch whichever Loyalists are present.

Havelock, Kyouraku, Teague, the servants and Mayuri show up, but there’s no sign of the rest.

Couldn’t afford to stick around, even for something as important as this?

Then again, trying to stop the city from going over the edge is a job that doesn’t afford much time to rest.

They all bow when Emily steps out of the boat.

“It is good to see you safe and alive, Empress Emily,” Kyouraku says. “Your room is prepared – Callista, here, will take you there now – there’ll be dinner in a while.”

“I will show you your room now if you so desire, and later the entirety of the Hound Pits Pub.”

“Thank you – I’ll go with you now, if I can?” Emily bows gracefully in return, but throws a hesitant look at Kisuke before she goes. “I’ll see you later, right, Kisuke?”

“ _Yes.”_

If he could… he would not leave her here. But his plague ridden apartment is even less safe for her than this place. Besides, while some of the Loyalists unsettle him, the servants are decent people.

She should be safe, at least for now.

Havelock waits until Emily leaves, before speaking with Kisuke.

“Congratulations on the successful mission, Lord Protector. Your skills are astounding – you never fail to impress, even armed with just a blade and your mind. With the twins gone, our own Lord Pendleton will get their votes in parliament – changing everything. You’ve done more in a day that most people in a lifetime. We are almost ready with our next move. I will speak to you later; Pendleton has asked to talk to you first. Kurotsuchi, bring him to the cellar.”

Kisuke nods, and waits for Kurotsuchi to lead him into the interior of the pub, for the first time since he’s met the Loyalists.

The inside of the pub is wood panelled and polished, but with a dingy, shifty air to it – probably left over from when the pub was still running an underground, literally and figuratively, hound fighting club.

Pendleton is indeed waiting in the cellar, standing next to barrels, and chugging down the contents of a bottle of wine.

Not the first one, it looks like.

“Ah, Kisuke. You’re back. The Conspiracy thanks you for your work – but I don’t know if I can do the same. My brothers… We Loyalists never believed you killed the Empress, the Lord Regent profited more than you ever could… and we spent so much money and effort trying to get you out, when you broke out on your own.”

* * *

_“They had to die,” Kurotsuchi translates quietly, and Pendlton curses, taking another swig of alcohol._

_“I can’t thank you for this. You did the job- but I can’t thank you. Get out. Havelock wants to talk to you.”_

* * *

“They are not dead. They cannot interfere anymore, but they are not dead,” Kurotsuchi translates for Kisuke.

Pendleton stares, then shakes his head.

“I must thank you for that, then. It is more than what was asked. Oh- Havelock’s looking for you. Go to him.”

Kisuke leaves, uncertain.

Havelock turns out to be in the pub area drinking with the others to celebrate, and nods when he spots Kisuke.

“We’ve relistened to all the audiographs, again-“

“-a mine of information, a fortune, really, we almost have the Overseers under our thumb with this information,” interjects Teague.

“-and discovered some new and useful information. For example, many of those friendly with the Lord Regent have had their portraits done by Unohana. Commissioned and paid for by the Lord Regent. One of the audiographs suggests that there is _another_ important financial supporter, other than Ginjo, who might _also_ be in Parliament – but only Unohana would have any clue as to who it could be. We need her to be brought here, so we can interrogate her for lists of names and any details. Teague can then deal with his informants to determine who we ought to go after.”

“You want me to kidnap the Royal Physician?” Kurotsuchi translates, and then adds in a question of his own, pretending that it’s still Kisuke’s query - not that Kisuke minds, actually, because it is a good one. “Would her work on the plague not be disrupted?” 

“I understand the concern - without a cure, we might as well give up. There is a laboratory upstairs that can be put to use if she _cooperates,_ so she ought to be able to continue her work. You will have to be careful during the mission – she is being kept in a very secure apartment on Kaldwin’s Bridge, out over the river.”

“When do I go?”

“Unfortunately, you have to go right now.”

Kisuke’s body screams out in protest. He very much does not feel like he’s in a state to go out _again_ after already completing a whole mission, and Kurotsuchi starts to frown next to him, clearly in agreement. 

He’s already drunk three, four vials? Another mission will need more, but- that could be… rather unsafe.

But he doesn’t have any choice in the matter, does he?

“She’s at the apartment right now, we know that for _certain_ , but most of the time she is at the Tower, where you wouldn’t be able to retrieve her from with ease. There might not be another opportunity for quite a while.”

His hands fall back to his sides, unwilling to sign his protests, and he nods tersely instead.

“Go now – or, very well, take a minute to pick up a few things from the workshop if you need to.”

In the workshop, he replaces his pouches of razor springtraps for a pouch with a set of a dozen sleep darts, Kurotsuchi insisting he take more this time, just in case he runs out of power, and draws attention by accident, messing up from exhaustion.

“-I’d say you don’t need too many grenades, either, because at this time of day it’s curfew, and it’s quiet, and using them for rats might draw too much attention, but it is your call. Also, here,” Kurotsuchi turns around, and retrieves something from a box. “Here’s the wristbow you commissioned. It is more stable and accurate, if with a shorter range, but it is far lighter than the thing you now carry.”

“ _Thank you,”_ Kisuke signs.

It fits well on his arm, over the coat sleeve, and is _much_ lighter than his crossbow - and much easier to operate, too. And he won’t need to waste time on drawing it every time he needs it.

Kisuke hands over the few things he managed to pick up over the mission- before remembering the additional request, and handing over the bag with the clothes.

Kurotsuchi looks inside, to check the contents, and...

He’d been expecting one of a large array of emotional responses and reactions to the proof of the acquisition of possibly-fetish-related-items, but wilting and disappointment were not on his mental list. Did he bring the wrong things?

“I suppose hoping that you would forget was a foolish dream, but I could not _not_ request their retrieval, not with what was asked- ah, well, this will have its uses. Thank you regardless, Kisuke.”

The _Loyalists_ asked him to ask Kisuke to pick this up? Interesting. And odd.

“You are almost certainly exhausted, I know – but remember to not drink too many of the vials, unless you’re in a particular hurry to die of poisoning,” Kurotsuchi says at last.

He nods in understanding, and leaves.

Samuel is waiting for him in the boat, looking uneasy.

“This is a long day, but I suppose sleep has got to wait. Are you good to go?”

He _wants_ to say that he’s _not_ , that all he wants to do is go and curl up in his cold, damp, dank apartment and sleep for as long as he can manage.

Instead, he shrugs, and gets in the boat.

  


The sun is in the process of setting by the time they get to the South End of the Kaldwin bridge, the floodlights on the water prohibiting a closer approach.

“You gotta take those floodlights down, Kisuke – I don’t think you’ll manage to get back here dragging a body, no offense.”

Samuel isn’t wrong. He’d be hard-pressed to manage that when feeling rested, these days. Now? Now that’d be impossible.

 _"Attention, Dunwall citizens. Be advised, the River Krust infestation has spread downriver as far as the river mouth and flooded district. Do not attempt to approach or destroy a River Krust. Any items recovered from doing so are considered state property,”_ sounds over the loudspeaker.

River krusts, and their ability to spit deadly acid at people from a large distance, are _nothing_ but trouble, even if their shells contain expensive pearls. And this evening, he has no interest in trouble, especially murderous-mollusc-shaped-trouble.

Kisuke makes a mental note not to attempt to go under the bridge, or to the shoreline, or _go anywhere_ next to the water, if he can help it.

He climbs up a chain, leading from the ruined dock area, up to the street proper, ignoring the aches in his arms and legs, and Flickers to a lamppost.

The loudspeaker crackles to life again.

“ _Attention. Curfew is now in effect. No foot traffic is permitted across Kaldwin’s bridge until sunrise. ”_

Wonderful. Truly wonderful.

He pulls the Heart out.

There are multiple bonecharms and runes around… but he is tired. So very tired. He shouldn’t go after them.

Even if they call to him, even if it feels like heresy to not take them, not find those pieces of the Outsider’s power, he hopes that she can understand that he simply does not have the strength to hunt for them now.

Clicking his tongue in irritation, he decides only to take those _directly_ in his path. Nothing more than that. No getting sidetracked.

Perhaps – if a house is empty, no Weepers, no rats, he will investigate. But nothing more than that.

He manages to get up to the roofs of the tall houses in the area, bypassing the locked gates, the waterlock, and the well-guarded carriage station with… well, staying unnoticed is easy. Running and climbing across roofs, ventilation shafts, and the rest, is not.

He Flickers down and onto the lampposts, when he sees a guard arguing with a civilian,

idly waiting for his magic to recharge.

He’s tired - but the guards are supposed to shoot on sight, and he can’t rightly not intervene if this man is about to get murdered.

“All must respect curfew, even affluent-“

“Curse this dratted plague, and the curfew to boot! How is one supposed to make a living? Do you understand that it is by my work that you get to eat what is probably half your rations? I am Pratchett, and it is _my_ jellied eels you get to eat!”

“Regardless, Mister Pratchett, even an affluent man like you needs the City Watch, what with the gangs tearing the streets apart, smashing the windows. The Weepers trying to get in from quarantined districts, they’re worse than the thugs. Are you saying the Lord Regent is wrong in his attempts to keep the city safe and secure with bold measures?“

“All this talk of ‘the boldest measures are the safest’… It won’t do you good to bait me, officer.” He pauses. “I’ll find a way to profit, mark my words.”

Pratchett walks inside of his house, and Kisuke breathes a sigh of relief. 

No intervention necessary, thank the Outsider.

He moves on, Flickering to some ventilation shafts from his lamppost, and considers. There is a rune, calling to the Heart, inside Pratchett’s house.

The top window is open.

He sneaks into the man’s house, and heads for the safe, from which he can hear the whalesong emanating.

It’s locked, of course.

He looks at a note on the table.

“ _First look to the slaughterhouse on the dirty streets, then to the whaling ship braving the sleet, and lastly to the final truth in the bay of reeds.”_

Poetic nonsense?

Kisuke steals his way through the house, noting the many paintings. There is one with a crowded streets, another of an icy sea…

He examines them closely, until he finds small numbers added to the paintings.

Four. Nine.

The third painting he can’t find, not if he doesn’t want to have to knock Pratchett out where he’s pacing downstairs, but with two digits, the third is easy enough to find, simply going through every possible variation.

The rune shivers in the safe, next to two large golden ingots.

He empties the safe, and locks it again.

With this much wealth stored in his own personal safe, instead of the bank, this money clearly isn’t crucial to the man’s survival.

It is as he exits the building through the window again, that he hears loud, bellowing cries.

He Flickers up, and then follows the sound, until he can see a man on a balcony, shouting into the street.

"Outlive me? You will not outlive me! I will see the summer, and the winter after that! I will remember none of you! I will not remember any of you!

"I will set fire to the hairs on their faces! I will pull nails from their feet with my own teeth. I will taste their eyes against my tongue like the eggs of fish."

The man is clearly _sick_. Not with the plague, but some disorder of the mind. Driven mad by the degradation in the city perhaps… except, when he pulls it out, the Heart says that there is _something_ in his apartment, something Void-touched. Perhaps whalebone madness has touched this man, then.

Eventually, the man goes back inside, and Kisuke dares Flicker across the street, pausing on the ledge right above the window.

The outline of the man shows him standing in front of a shrine, muttering, "It has taken my water, it has taken my blood, it has taken my seed. Why will it not speak to me?"

He shoots the man with a sleep dart from behind, and he falls, almost knocking over the altar.

There is a horrid, familiar smell in the apartment. A living body not washed for many days - and a decomposing one.

The walls peel, the place is full of trash, the doors boarded up, and the only illumination are purple lanterns and candles scattered around.

He picks his way through the room, gagging, until he gets to the pedestal with the rune and journal lying on top of it.

He flicks through it, morbidly curious.

_2nd Day, Month of Nets_

_I found a job, on a whaling boat. After, I will head to Tyvia. The winters are cold there, but there are no rats or plague or the Lord Regent. The people there are fair-skinned and fair-headed and light-eyed. Bleached by the cold, they say._

_24th Day, Month of Nets_

_I found something odd. Bone, carved. Whalebone? They say it can bring luck._

_8th Day, Month of Rain_

_My cousin Emil is coming soon. He’s bringing something for a roast. I’ll try to buy some vegetables._

_9th Day, Month of Rain_

_The bone shines oh so pretty, but I can’t see it on the shelf when I lie in bed. That’s what the pedestal is for – and oh, it looks so good with the candles._

_17th Day, Month of Rain_

_In dreams, I hear it sing – like wind or chimes or deep roaring or a voice. My ship left, days ago. I remembered too late to get on._

_19th Day, Month of Rain_

_Me and Emil fought over it – he was holding it, I screamed, we fought, now he lies. Why did I do that?._

_25th Day, Month of Rain_

_He was a thief. He still sits here._ The dinner was a trick; he came to steal it.

_Maybe he told others. I will barricade myself in._

_11th Day, Month of Wind_

_Everyone is gone. Plague was in building, guards came, took everyone out. No plague now, only me. The bone will protect me. It says so in my dreams._

The man does have the madness, but Kisuke can’t help but think of himself. He’s been… chasing the runes and bone-charms, disregarding mission targets to get to the charms.

Is it because the charms affect him like they did this man? Is he already half a raving lunatic, without noticing it? Or was he merely being pragmatic, trying to arm himself before taking on difficult missions?

He can hear them sing and hiss, after all, somewhere _under_ the sounds of everything else, eerie, unearthly. That’s a bad sign, supposedly. He knows that to most people, the bones are silent.

This is… something he’ll need to think about _later_. Talk over with Kurotsuchi, maybe, see if he knows anything.

Right now, he has to stay on task.

The closest loudspeaker spits, hisses, and belches out an announcement that is not one of the usual, endlessly recycled warnings and rules and propaganda.

_"Attention Citizens: This evening the streets adjacent to Pendleton Manor will be closed for a private ceremony following the tragic loss of two of our city's best and brightest, the Lords Custis and Morgan Pendleton. All holdings and Parliamentary votes now fall to Lord Treavor Pendleton, who asks for respect during this time of mourning."_

Of course. Pendleton can not explain how he would know of his brother’ survival – he has to hold a ceremony for them. 

Perhaps, he _will_ mourn the fact that he will never see them again – even if Kisuke can not understand how someone could possibly miss two people like _that_.

Then again, Pendleton is a noble, and while his heart is not as black as some… he is not some innocent citizen either. Perhaps to him his brother’s deeds are not as terrible - and he himself is now profiting from the mines.

...Perhaps a word ought to be had about those workers.

Kisuke follows the rooftops until he reaches the edge of the street, where the bridge begins.

There are some strange devices on the ground, almost like the alarm systems scattered around where guards congregate, somewhat taller than a human and sparking with electricity, and two thugs held in a temporary cage – awaiting transport.

“So, this arc pylon, how do we use it?” he hears one of the guards below ask.

“It’s something of Unohana’s, hooked up to that whale oil tank over there. We’re safe, it recognises us, but anyone else passing through will just get fried like a prawn chucked into a furnace.”

“Fri-”

It’s at this moment that the thugs break out, and make a run for it. 

The arc pylon sounds an alarm, and then two large arcs of electricity explode out of it, striking the men. Charred corpses, little more than ash, really, fall to the ground.

Walls of light, except ranged. How _delightful_.

And very inconvenient for him, considering there’s nowhere high to Flicker to between here and the cables leading to the top of the closest tower of the bridge - where the whale oil tanks powering the floodlights probably are. Although, he is not certain if that is on this side, or the other one.

He doesn’t like his chances, even running across the area with time slowed. Electricity moves very, very quickly. If only he could stop time completely...

The runes buzz in his blood, and then fade, leaving nothing behind. He’s used the last of them up.

But if he’s acquired what he thinks he’s acquired...

That will be _most_ useful, even if likely even more energy-demanding than slowed time.

He prepares a blue vial in his hand, then Flickers down to land besides a wolfhound crate, just outside of the pylon’s detection range – hopefully.

He waits five seconds, and then... he freezes time completely.

The world goes green, and eerily silent as he sprints past the pylon and the guards, downing the vial to let him Flicker up to one of the massive, metal shielded cables leading to the tower.

He’s not sure how much not-time passes, but he’s more than half-way up by the time the power stops working, and time resumes.

He goes the rest of the way up, sneaking into the staircase via the glassless windows, and then Flickering up the rafter until he reaches the very top of the bridge. The whale oil tanks for the floodlights aren’t here, clearly.

He crosses to the top of the other tower, and starts descending, keeping an eye out for the floodlight power source.

He follows a guard along the groaning metal stairs, all the way to where he sees the whale oil tank powering the floodlights, behind a closed door. He steals the guard’s key, gets inside the room to remove the whale oil tank from where it sits and powers the floodlights, making sure that the tank is out of sight. He sets the tank slot to safety mode, closing it with the cover, so as not to arouse suspicion if someone were to pass by and see the empty slot, and moves on, using the cables on the other side to get down.

There is a small, heavily guarded section where the bridge starts – protecting the power supplied to the bridge, no doubt, and he stops time to rapidly Flicker through the area, just in case there’s a pylon he can’t see.

He Flickers to the roofs, bypassing a boarded up gate and the checkpoint, arriving at-

Ah, of course, the midrow substation, supplying the power to the bridge. 

Something to do with the energy generated by the massive wheels spinning in the water, the ones he can see from his perch - the ones guarded by a small contingent of guards, a Wall of Light built at the north end of the street for added protection.

He has to hurry, if he wants to pass through it before this spell ends.

Kiukse passes through the electricity hanging frozen in the air – slivers of light that sting slightly to the touch, like harmless static.

The top of a nearby roof ends up the best place to catch his breath, and massage his Marked hand, fingers _numb,_ unfeeling. They hurt, faintly, from the overuse of power, and while he waits for it to return to functionality, gets the Heart out to listen for any advice - or whalebone locations.

The industrial warehouse he is resting on has something inside - a bonecharm, Kisuke is almost certain. There is a balcony entrance below him, and the door hinges are worn enough that he is able to push his way in with some effort.

The building _reeks_ of death, corpses scattered everywhere, and he descends the stairs, gagging from the smell.

On the bottom floor, he finds a large group of plague rats – and tosses a grenade at them on reflex.

There’s a short scream from somewhere nearby when it explodes - a woman in the far corner, crouching on top of a tall metal cupboard.

Seeing that none of the rats survived the explosion, she carefully drops down, and approaches him, wringing her hands.

“Thank you! I was sure these rats were going to be the death of me, they got everyone else – eaten or plague-ridden, either way, just as dead. Here, take this.”

She offers him a pouch of money.

It’s tempting. But he has a store of almost two grand by now, and she will need this money more.

He shakes his head, and goes for the bone charm instead, hidden under a bed.

The woman speaks up. “A man came here, shortly before the rats did. He brought the thing with him. I think there’s something wrong with it.”

Kisuke pauses, and pulls the Heart out.

“ _The Hoardcaller, it will let you call swarms almost twice as large as you can do on your own.”_

No wonder so many rats have gathered here, then.

And calling a swarm of… rats, or whatever else that can swarm – hounds, hagfish, bloodflies…

That is an ability that he doesn’t have, yet, and isn’t certain he _wants_ to have. It sounds rather… messy.

He snaps the charm in his hands, and hopes that is enough to break its power, too. It certainly stops humming, at the very least.

* * *

_He keeps the charm. If he needs to summon rats... well, it may have its uses. But he will have to keep it somewhere safe after missions, away from the Pub. A roof, perhaps._

* * *

He leaves the industrial warehouse and the woman, and – out of the corner of his eye – sees Samuel’s boat approach the short docking area down below the actual street level. 

Most likely, he has… twenty, thirty minutes left at most, before someone realises the floodlights aren’t working, and sounds an alarm, or something.

There’s a rune in an abandoned, half-collapsed apartment across from him that he collects, before starting to examine Unohana’s house for the best route of approach. 

The front door is guarded by an Overseer and a guard, standing next to each other with silent mutual hostility, and there are more men patrolling around. Clearly, that is not the way in.

He climbs and Flickers from the abandoned house to a balcony, and then higher until he reaches the roof of the house – one that he has been to, once or twice.

There are two guards patrolling the roof, and he barely ducks out of sight of the closer one in time.

Still, some flicker of him, of his coat, must have been visible, because the guard stays there, peering suspiciously over the balcony railing at the space he used to occupy.

The moment he turns away, Kisuke shoots a sleep dart into his neck, before stalking his companion and treating him to an unexpected afternoon nap too.

His time is even more limited, now – no way to know when the shift change is meant to be, and even piling them out of sight on a neighbouring roof doesn’t mean an alarm won’t be raised soon.

The door to the room is unlocked, and he enters silently.

The entire space is being used as a large laboratory – larger than the one that takes up the entire attic of the pub, almost, but not as large as those in the Academy of Natural Philosophy. 

Empty and half-full elixir vials are scattered around, and Kisuke prowls through the rows silently, approaching the _two_ figures standing facing the wall, poring over papers.

The end of the room also houses...

Kisuke narrows his eyes.

There are four small cells, with windows, too small to exit – each occupied by a sleeping person. There’s small desks, and books inside, and trays from recent meals...

Kisuke supposes that human tests subjects is not an… unreasonable solution to turn to. 

He can’t quite hear what Unohana, her long black hair pinned in a knot instead of braided now, and the unfamiliar young man with bright orange hair are discussing, and he wonders whether he should knock one, or _both_ of them out.

As it turns out, he doesn’t have time to do either, before the man turns around and yelps in alarm.

“Physician, there’s someone-“ he has time to say, and Unohana spins around, a knife appearing in her hand as if by magic, but he knows it must come from a sleeve or some such.

He’s heard rumours, of course, that long before moving to Dunwall, she had been a vicious gang leader in Morley, terrorising Overseers and nobles, but it is odd to see _proof_ of that.

She… relaxes, oddly, as she takes him in, and motions for her… apprentice, perhaps? to stand down.

“So the _disgraces_ and _disappearances_ of the Lord Regent’s acquaintances have not been mere coincidence, have they, Lord Protector? But you, yourself, have seen better days, too, have you not?” she says, eyeing him up and down.

“ _Once is incidence, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action?”_

She smiles kindly. “Indeed. However, if you are here to eliminate me – I must disappoint. I am not in the Lord Regent’s confidence. I do doubt that an offer of coin will make you leave, however.”

 _“But you_ might _know who is.”_ Kisuke gestures vaguely at a nearby easel, nearly hidden by the laboratory equipment. “ _You have been working.”_

“No. Even if I do know _all_ who have been in his presence, I would not be able to identify the most important supporters - and I will not let you kill every man who has spoken to the Lord Regent in the last six month. Even if I do wish the man gone as much as anyone. Kill me, or leave, you will gain just as much use of me either way.” She sounds… bitter? That she can’t help?

Kisuke has a moment of insight.

“ _The guards aren’t here just to protect you, are they? They are to keep you here. You_ know _I didn’t do it, but you’re too valuable to silence in other ways.”_

“I very much doubt you can lead me out of this place, past all the guards. Your skills are very impressive, certainly – but I could not follow your movements.” 

The apprentice is looking between them, obviously not versed in signs, trying to figure out what Kisuke is saying.

Revealing his powers makes him… uneasy. Especially if this conversation does not continue _well._ And what with the witness...

But if that will let him take her without unnecessary unpleasantness… And give her incentive to cooperate…

He Flickers across the room, to look inside the cells.

The sleeping people all seem to be affected with the plague – kidnapped? Plucked off the streets? Infected here, or already sick on arrival?

“ _Incredible_ ,” he hears Unohana whisper behind him. “That is- my, I thought the Marked ones are mere legends.”

He turns to her.

“ _Where do you get these?”_ He points at the unconscious people.

She shrugs carelessly.

“People who were brought to the City Watch with the earliest stage of illness. Volunteers from Coldridge. Well-paid volunteers off the street who are paying for their families’ safe passage to other Isles.”

He cannot know whether that is a lie, or not – the young man does not look surprised at the words, but that is not necessarily an indicator of the truth.

“ _Sneaking you out with me will not be a problem. Are you willing to cooperate?”_

She considers him, thoughtfully. “Will you kill Kurosaki here just to keep your visit and powers secret? Or will you disappear him?”

The now-named Kurosaki squawks indignantly at the sudden threat.

He… well, had been considering that.

“I will only go on the condition that you take both of us. And let me collect some notes. I trust that there will be something for me to entertain myself with when we arrive to whatever hideout you have found for yourself?”

“ _There is a laboratory, although the owner will demand that you let him keep at least half of it. Probably. He also studies the plague, so perhaps you may find his research to be of use?”_

“Good. Well – let us gather some notes, and we will be ready to go.”

“Go? With him?” Kurosaki finally speaks up. 

“Unless you would _like_ to be either thrown off a roof or taken by the Overseers to be interrogated about my disappearance, you will join me in going wherever this escaped felon is going to take us. Now pack our most recent notes.”

 _“Felon?”_ Kurosaki looks kind of terrified. And pissed off. 

Kisuke’s _almost_ impressed by that.

“He’s innocent of the crimes he has been accused of, I am certain - except for the crime of breaking out of prison and evading the City Watch, of course.”

Kurosaki looks like he wants to start arguing or demanding explanations, but then shakes his head, casting dark glances at Kisuke while he bundles notes into the first bag he finds.

They’re ready to go in minutes.

Hoping that Flickering with two people at once will work, he gestures both of them to hold on to his shoulders, instead of his hands, and Flickers.

It hurts – takes more power than it should, and leaves him with a blinding headache as he lands on the ledge, and then on the abandoned house’s roof. His companions stumble and he almost tips forwards, barely managing to stay standing.

He digs a blue vial out of a pouch, and downs it.

The headache fades instantly, and the two follow him across the flat roof, to the other side, from which he Flickers them down to the second floor of a mostly-broken down house, downs another vial because this time the single movement takes everything out of him, then down to the street, drinks yet _another_ vial, and then to where Samuel is docked.

He’s so dizzy he almost throws up in the river then and there, and the blue vial’s taste does not discourage the inclination upon consumption - seriously, does the taste get worse the more of these that he drinks per day? He would swear it does.

He steadies himself against the wall as the two natural philosophers settle into the boat, waiting for him. Samuel looks at him, concerned.

“Are you ready to go, Kisuke, or is there something else you need to do here?”

He shakes his head, and climbs into the boat.

He stays vigilant during the trip, in case the mutinous-looking Kurosaki decides to try throwing him and Samuel out of the boat. The silence from his direction is certainly hostile enough.

Kisuke does not dare expose his back to them, and leaves the boat only after they do.

Kurosaki looks… disappointed, perhaps, at the location of the pub. No way to escape from there, not without running into guards who’d call him a Weeper or an infected citizen as soon as seeing him in the district.

Teague is there in moments, along with _Yamamoto_ (which might be only the _second_ time Kisuke’s seen the man around), and Havelock.

“I see you’ve brought the Royal Physician here, Kisuke – although I do not understand the presence of this… Who are you?” Yamamoto rumbles out.

“I’m Ichigo Kurosaki – I’m a student at the Academy, apprenticing with Doctor Unohana,” Kurosaki says, frowning.

“He is necessary to me – I do not suggest entertaining thoughts of ways to dispose of him, thank you,” Unohana says – in a much cooler tone than she used with Kisuke. Interesting. He didn’t realise that she’s fond of him. Or perhaps, at the moment, she simply thinks of him as nothing as a dog, carrying out his masters’ orders. No point being angry at a tool, is there?

“Well then, I am pleased to welcome you to the Hound Pits Pub – where we are attempting to take down the Lord Regent, and restore Lady Emily to the Tower. This city is dying, and that man is only killing it faster.”

Kurosaki’s eyes widen.

“You have her? How? Were you the ones-”

“Kisuke rescued her this morning, from under close guard of the Regent’s allies.”

Kurosaki turns to stare at Kisuke – mildly impressed, and a tad more terrified than before, perhaps.

“Let us talk more in the pub. I will show you the way,” Yamamoto says, in a tone that brooks no argument. 

The three of them leave, allowing Havelock to talk with Kisuke, alone.

“Your competence is truly impressive – and your winning of their cooperation, even more so. Still, it may take us weeks to determine the last supporter – and find an opportunity to strike. Surely, at this point, with allies eliminated, and the Physician gone, the Lord Regent will, at least temporarily, increase the guard to the highest levels. You have time to rest, now. You have earned it.”

He thinks he can visit Kurotuschi, first, talk briefly, and then walk along the walkway from the very top of the workshop to Emily’s room in the tower to see her before she falls asleep.

That turns out to be the wrong order of decisions.

Kurotsuchi is _furious,_ and Kisuke finds himself defending his decisions to speed up the completion of the mission as much as he could – along with, perhaps, doing an unnecessary amount of pickpocketing.

“You drank _how_ many vials of my remedy today? Do not answer that – I may be tempted to murder you myself, to spare you an agonising death.” He pauses to take a deep breath, and mutters, “Even if it would serve as a good lesson for you. And a very permanent one.”

Louder, he says, “Do not – I repeat, do _not_ – do this again. Ever. Are you _trying_ to kill yourself?”

“ _It was necessary,”_

“Not more _necessary_ than you being alive this time next year, I would think!” 

Kisuke doesn’t understand why Kurotsuchi sounds so angry. Why does he… care about that?

“ _As long as Lady Emily is returned to the throne with sufficient protection, I will be satisfied. My own state is irrelevant – as per the conditions of my job, her life is my only priority.”_

The stare he gets indicates that Kurotsuchi is _this_ close to being _apoplectic_ with rage, but there’s also something… he’d call it _hurt_ , if he didn’t know better.

“I imagine your _daughter_ would not appreciate her father dying of carelessness,” Kurotsuchi spits out, and turns away, gripping the edge of the table.

Kisuke turns to leave, but then Kurotsuchi speaks again after a few moments.

“You are no longer contagious, unless someone who does not take either plague preventative comes into contact with a large quantity of your blood. While you _are_ still sick - the latest tests show that you are starting to quite successfully fight off the disease. Your blood - your immune system is slowly learning how to eradicate the contagion.”

That is… incredible news. But then, his wreck of an apartment, will probably now be detrimental to further improvements in his health, won’t it?

“I’ve put in a request for new sets of clothes for you, right after I took your blood – did a favour for Lord Ukitake and Admiral Kyouraku. Pick the package up from their room, then wash yourself well, with soap and disinfectant and hot water. Get rid of anything you have that can’t be thoroughly cleaned.. There’s a tiny shower room in the attic, I use it for decontamination when needed, you can use it. Do all this before you go see the girl - then return here.”

The hot shower – the first time in months and _months_ – feels incredible against his skin. He scrubs himself clean properly for pretty much the first time since his escape, closing his eyes - partly in bliss, partly to avoid seeing the- scars.

It is good, to be clean. To slip into fresh clothes that haven’t been repeatedly roughly washed with nothing more than cold water. The socks, especially, are the best part, he is certain.

He tries to use them to distract himself from the feeling of guilt for upsetting Kurotsuchi so much when he had gone to all this trouble behind his back.

(But he still doesn’t understand what he did wrong. Said wrong?)

There’s a razor by the sink too, with a note saying “ _Throw this away after use, just in case,”_ and a small handheld mirror, letting him shave his face to look at least a _little_ more presentable, despite the still red-rimmed eyes and sickly pallor.

Like this, he could even face Lady Emily without his mask, perhaps.

He carefully separates out the layers of shed clothing, laying aside the mask, the wristbow, the sword... he can replace the vials and everything else with ease. The rest… yes, perhaps it’s best to dispose of anything that could be contaminated.

He stops by Lady Emily’s room in the tower. It has been cleaned up some more, now, with some toys and books and good furniture, if not _exactly_ fit for a future empress.

She’s asleep when he gets there – not surprising. It has gotten quite late.

“Shhh, don’t wake her,” Callista whispers, from where she sits on a chair next to Emily’s bed. “It was hard enough to put her to bed – she’s an incredibly curious child, this one, and always asking about when you would be back.”

He nods, and settles for just- watching, for a little while.

She tosses and turns, speaking indistinctly. A nightmare, like there aren’t already enough to go around.

He should have done something, rescued her earlier, broken her out earlier-

No. He has done _everything_ he could, and now she’s safe. He has done his best. He _has._ Even if maybe his best hadn’t been good enough for anyone.

The cold breeze ruffles his damp hair as he walks back, Flickering only once – from the planks connecting the Tower to the pub window, down to the street.

Kurotsuchi does not look necessarily _happy_ to see him, but leads him upstairs anyway, to where his own room is, and then to the balcony

Where the space previously had been empty - just a normal balcony - it’s now been turned into a sort of small adjoining room, wooden and metal planks acting as walls, the overhang above acting as the ceiling, leaving just enough uncovered space to stand in front of a… sort of curtain door?

Kisuke pushes it aside, and blinks. There, on the floor, are two thick mattresses with a pile of blankets and a pillow on them, a small space heater, a lantern, and a tray of food and water.

He looks back, questioning, at Kurotsuchi.

“You can stay here as long as you want, but I thought that at the very least for this night- With two missions, I doubt you have the energy to find a new, clean and uncontaminated apartment this late at night.”

He walks off, unwilling to keep talking, and Kisuke cautiously ducks back under the curtain.

The space is small, uncomfortably so for him, the balcony short enough that he has to curl up to fit on the mattress – but there is a heater, at least, keeping the whole space almost as pleasant as inside the workshop despite the chill outside, and the bed does look very inviting.

And if he needs to escape, he can Flicker out easily enough. Fleeing would be easy. 

He takes off the boots and coat, folding them and leaving them at the entrance to the small… den, and ducks inside, letting the thick curtain fall.

The lantern keeps the place light enough that he can drink from the jug without activating his Vision.

He can’t recognise the dish. It tastes good enough, enthusiastically spiced with something Kisuke doesn’t recognise but makes him think of Morley.

He’s almost in a _proper_ bed, really, he thinks when he lies down under the covers.

He should thank Kurotuschi, tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews make the world go around, or at least make me more hyped about writing!


	7. An Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Quiet Interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look who is back!  
> Real life has been a pain, so here I bring you fluff and sweetness XD

It takes multiple bribes of stolen and scavenged tea and books from the large area around the Hound Pits Pub for Kurotsuchi to agree to actually talk to Kisuke for anything other than running tests, other tests, and more tests for whatever he, Unohana, and Kurosaki do in the lab Kisuke was temporarily banned from, and accept the apology.

Four. It takes four, because apparently Kurotsuchi isn’t quite as angry as Kisuke thought, and then they’re on speaking terms again, and Kisuke is allowed to come and watch the trio work in the attic – or, as they usually do, apparently, sit and watch bacteria grow and sometimes die off.

Kisuke is going down the stairs to the ground floor of the workshop when he hears Emily’s voice, and pauses, listening.

“Mister Kurotsuchi? Can you tell me about the stars?”

“What would you like to know?” is the reply – void of the irritation Kisuke usually hears when he deals with… just about anyone, except maybe himself and Unohana.

“Everything! Are they really just large balls of fire?”

“Well…”

He exits via the balcony, Flickering away.

He doesn’t want to bother them.

Emily _likes_ Kurotsuchi, enough that Kisuke keeps finding her running away from Callista and her lessons on Dunwall’s history to instead listen to Kurotsuchi teach her about whale oil harvesting and processing and uses, about industry – and, sometimes, life in the city.

He’s not sure if the interest in the _people_ changed because of her captivity, or she’s just too fascinated by the bright blue hair and yellow eyes to stop him from talking about whatever he feels like.

Kurosaki warms up to his new situation eventually (perhaps it's the lack of the expected murder or violence, or perhaps it's something else, Kisuke isn't sure), picking up signs enough to start joining in on conversations between Kisuke and Kurotsuchi and Unohana.

“Morley is very nice, very _refined_ , sure, but I think I like Dunwall more,” he says, one evening, over dinner. “Even if I can’t beat up on every moron that tries anything with my sisters.”

Mayuri makes a disbelieving sound. “Didn’t your- Karin, I think? break at least three noses in the last month? I heard that audiograph you were listening to.”

“Well, she shouldn’t have to!” Kurosaki sounds indignant. “Anyway, where do you like more?”

“Dunwall. Less Overseers trying to kill or castrate me for having the wrong kind of parent is something I dearly appreciate.” He sounds like he’s only half joking. Kisuke hadn’t known it was that bad there.

Kurosaki winces.

“ _I miss Karnaca. It’s warm there, and the food is… infinitely better, especially if you can afford it - but even street food is more flavourful. Many don’t care much about the Overseers at all; their presence there is limited, our Duke doesn’t care for them. It is… good there.”_

Kurosaki frowns, but seems to get the gist of it. 

“I didn’t know you are Serkonan. You look…”

“ _My mysterious Tyvian and Morleyan progenitors left me in Karnaca.”_

“Oh.”

“ _I’m too much an attractive young man to_ not _have a mysterious past,”_ Kisuke air-quotes, and Kurotsuchi bursts into undignified sniggers.

“You’re older than either of us – late thirties, right?” Kurosaki chokes out past his laughter, and a piece of potato. “I mean, that is being generous about your age there. Those posters of you are so flattering, they make you look two decades younger!”

“ _I’m twenty-seven, thank you very much. Those posters have it quite right.”_

There’s a pause..

Kisuke tries to break the awkward silence.

“ _Coldridge is not a very good vacation spot, I have to say, and the plague is really a quite ineffective beauty regimen. I think I should put some weight on, rather than keep losing it, like they recommend...”_

Kurotsuchi’s laugh is stilted and nervous, and he changes the topic.

“I hope she does not bother you, I keep trying to tell her not to escape, but-“ Callista sighs.

“I am not _bothered_. Explaining what I am doing often helps me with my work.”

“Then – here, a list of topics I was hoping to cover with her. About the kind of things you know. Could you maybe…”

“That is agreeable. Would you like me to speak to her in Morleyan, too?” Kisuke is almost sure that’s sarcasm right there.

“You- oh, that would be wonderful! Thank you – is there anything I can do for you?”

“Just make sure I get some free time sometimes. The girl is as inquisitive as her Lord Protector.”

From his new bed on the balcony that he finds himself still using, instead of finding a clean apartment to move out to, Kisuke can hear, in the evening, if Kyouraku is drunk and trying to harass Kurotsuchi again.

He interferes the moment when he hears it, Flickering to the spot right behind the drunk man, and tapping him on the shoulder, which usually earns an apology and a disappointed retreat.

Kurotsuchi thanks him, always, curt and subdued. If only there was a way to make the Admiral quit doing it. But he can't exactly put the fear of the Outsider in him, and castration is too brutal a measure for something like this.

Maybe.

Kisuke once listens to an audiograph recording Callista makes, unable to help himself. With the interior of the pub no longer off-limits, he finds himself listening to every audiograph, reading every diary for any sign of a coming betrayal.

_“Dear Uncle, it's been a while since we’ve talked or met or exchanged letters. And with the state of Dunwall, I cannot know whether we will see each other once again._

_“I am doing well, and am safe. I have a job- caring for a young girl, and it is better than what I expected to get. But she can be very trying – so very curious, a mind more for the natural philosophies than the languages and histories I’m trying to teach.”_ Kisuke shakes his head. Emily, always more interested in his own reading than her mother’s.

_“Sometimes, there is not enough to eat – the nobles have large bellies and appetites, but a new friend of mine makes sure to bring extra food for all of us. He is… kinder than I had thought he’d be, from his reputation._

_“I fare better than most, I suppose. We are the last of our family, Uncle – we just have to keep on surviving, if we can. May we meet soon. Your niece, Callista.”_

The inventors get along well – or, well, Kurotsuchi gets along with Unohana, listening to suggestions and firing off his own. His interactions with Kurosaki are… vibrant, fiery, almost always near an argument when it’s just the two of them, an odd sort of tension between them. 

Kisuke thinks it might be the fact that Mayuri is smarter despite _not_ being in the Academy, which makes Kurosaki uncertain – and Kurosaki is in the Academy, which makes Kurotsuchi envious.

Sometimes, when it is cold outside during the night, and Mayuri plans to work through it anyway – or Kisuke is tired after a long day – he is allowed to sleep in Kurotsuchi’s warmer, better bed.

There’s a soft, floral scent around the pillow, mixed with oils and rust, and he finds himself seeing it as _comforting._ As _home_ , like Dunwall Tower once was.

Hearing Callista stoke the fireplace in Emily’s room teaches him that he cannot cope with the sound of stirred coals, of fireplaces maintained. Every brand and burn scar viciously remind him of their existence as he Flickers away as quickly as he can, sending him careening into a wall and having to breathe through the sedative-drenched rag to dull the edge of irrational panic.

Kurotsuchi doesn’t question his request to make something more potent, just notes that the bleeding from the eyes seems to have completely stopped as of late.

He’s walking past Kurosaki’s room in the pub, looking for Kurotsuchi, when he accidentally activates his Vision, and sees...

There’s two figures in the room, on the bed. The shorter one, with the long hair, is on top of the other. Kisuke’s cheeks burn under the mask, because there’s no question about what the two are doing, and he deactivates the ability immediately, unwilling to intrude on their privacy.

(He does not feel a pang of bitterness. He does not.)

Unfortunately, that’s not the only time he ends up seeing them together, even if by accident.

“Are the Overseers right?” he hears one evening, sitting on the balcony and reading in his bed.

Somehow, he _still_ hasn’t found a suitable place to move out to. It is nice here. He has breakfast waiting for him every morning, and lunch, and _company_ that will answer his questions about natural philosophy – or Emily’s, although those answers he already knows from reading, and he loses himself in a moment of sweet reminiscing.

He knows so much - from all those years in the Tower, nights spent reading from the large library in the Tower, discovering all the things he could have learned in the Academy if he had money or a scholarship, Yoruichi leaning over his shoulder to check out the text just so they could converse about it later. 

The best time of his life, really.

“What about?” Kurotsuchi’s reply jolts Kisuke out of his memories.

“Magic. Is everyone who does it really _evil_?”

He freezes, his throat constricting in panic. She- his Lady, she doesn’t think-

He waits, anxiously, for an answer.

“I have seen many of those who attempt to practice it. Some for ill, some for good. It almost never works, other than perhaps the one who attempts it falling prey to the madness of the whalesong.”

“But is it- does it make someone a monster?” her voice is faint, scared.

“Is this about Kisuke?”

“Yes.”

“I cannot promise to know everything about him – but he is not a monster. I doubt he could kill to save his own life – although, perhaps, for your mother and for you, that is different. He is… a fiercely devoted man, and a kind one.”

* * *

_Kurotsuchi is slow to answer. “He loves you more than anything. You, he would not harm, not ever - he’d kill_ himself _before he would do that, I am certain. Like he would stop anyone who would harm you. You are safer with him than you with anyone else.”_

* * *

“…He’s so… different now,” Emily whispers. “Sometimes I don’t think I recognise him.”

Kurotsuchi is silent for a few moments.

“Coldridge is a very unkind place, my lady. I think your Lord Protector just needs time, and rest.”

“Did they torture him, there? I heard… I heard my mother complain about that creepy woman, the Royal Interrogator, about her going _too far_ when not kept an eye on.”

Had Emily always known so much?

“Yes. I don’t think you should ask him, however – not now.”

“Thank you, Mister Kurotsuchi.”

“Okay, if the processed whale oil in the blue version _is_ the ingredient that restores power to you, and the Mark heals even grievous injuries – even internal… What would happen if you were to injected with the pure, distilled stuff?” Kurosaki voices a thought they’re all thinking, as they compare the lists of ingredients in both anti-plague medications.

Kisuke eyes it. One single tiny syringe, full of the dangerous, _explosive_ liquid that they’re about to pump into his veins for _science_.

It feels ridiculous, risky. And yet… what will happen? He wants to know.

Kisuke takes a deep breath, and nods, letting Kurotsuchi inject it into his arm.

It burns. It burns like liquid fire right under his skin, and he can feel it inside of him, spreading, writhing, burning so much that he wants to throw up and then it gets to this heart, his collarbones, and throat, and it feels like his head is going to explode with the whalesong that is drowning out _everything_.

He freezes time, and then lets it go, and freezes it again, rapidly, ten times in a row, and the pressure vanishes, leaving him shaking and nauseous. And then he’s throwing up bile and blue poison on the floor, his mouth burning and then healing in moments.

Kurotsuchi is holding his hair back, spare hand soothingly rubbing circles into his back as he shakes and shivers. (More kind touch than- than he’s had in months. He’s missed this, even if he doesn’t want to respond to or acknowledge it.)

“We are not repeating this,” he says, with a finality that Kisuke has never heard him use for a failed experiment. He always comes back to things, never just _stops_ after a failure.

“ _It was six times the power- maybe more- than drinking one blue vial,_ ” he signs.

“It is not _worth_ it if you are too sick to move afterwards - you won’t be able to get on with the mission if this is how you go about it,” Mayuri grinds out, and Kisuke knows that’s that with this line of research.

Kyouraku has Kurotsuchi pinned to the wall when Kisuke finds them the following evening. He flinches, and then feels so very _angry,_ insides burning cold.

Power surges through his Marked hand, runes sacrificing themselves for power, and then a shimmering green barrier explodes around Mayuri, forcing Kyouraku back.

In that moment, he doesn’t even care about exposing the fact that he’s Marked, as he Flickers down to stand next to Mayuri, blade unfolded and ready in his hand.

“By the Outsider, this is-“ Kyouraku’s clouded-with-drink eyes are wide as saucers. “This cannot _be,_ this-“

Kisuke moves to stand in front of Mayuri, blade shimmering in the light, and Kyouraku finally takes the hint, hurrying off.

Hopefully, in the morning, he'll just think he was drunk and seeing things.

Kurotsuchi himself presses against his back, leaning against him, shivers wracking his thin frame, and he feels quiet huffs of breath on the back of his neck.

“I… I do not know what I would have done if you had not come, Kisuke. If I hurt one of them to defend myself- No, he wouldn't have really gone that far, he was just drunk and-” comes a soft, strangled whisper from behind his back. “I- I’m sorry. This is- I need to go calm down.”

He has a good idea why Kurotsuchi isn’t reacting well to being menaced. Gristol has always been... worse about how it treats Pandyssians. Worse than Serkonos, at least, which heavily frowned on kidnapping, enslaving, or sacrificing them to the Outsider. 

Yoruichi dealt with it here as much as she could - but changes take time. They always do.

He turns around, and signs, putting into words an idea he’s been considering for a while now.

“ _If you would like – you make for a good tutor for Emily. Would you like to move to the Tower, to teach her? And you could also work on my equipment, and those of the Tower guards. If you want to work there.”_

Kurotsuchi is speechless. 

“ _That would be a great honour, Lord Protector."_

He finds an audiograph card thrown away one day, and listens to it, curious, using a spare audiograph from Pendleton's room.

It speaks with Kurotsuchi's voice, he discovers, surprised, and can’t help but listen, despite the breach of privacy.

_“The inspiration is coming faster, and I am- afraid._

_“Kisuke Urahara broke out of prison seven days ago. Since then, I have awoken every morning as if I have not slept, my hands cut and bruised and raw, as if possessed by a force that feels no pain. My dreaming self is making something – if I look inside my memories, I think it is a Heart of metal and bones. A Heart that beats and lives._

_“The mask they asked me to make – it is taking shape without my conscious control, whether I make it asleep or awake. I thought, a skull, or lines like those of the rumoured Whalers – instead, it is a cat skull I find emerging in the shape, a great dead hunter from the lands of my mother. I… I feel like in the mirror, sometimes my eyes are black in the mornings._

_“I will recite the Strictures. I hope they will help. Please, I need to rest._

_“I wonder what kind of man Urahara is?”_

Something inside him _aches_.

So that is who made the Heart – unwittingly, possessed by the Outsider.

He should go find something... for him, or at least bring him some tea, at the very least, in apology, even if this recording is weeks old.

It’s his fault that that had happened.

Like always.

“ _What are you making?”_ Kisuke signs at Unohana, watching Ichigo and Mayuri assemble something that _vaguely_ resembles an arc pylon on the workshop roof.

“A security device – larger range than the pylons, and with both a lethal, and a non-lethal mode.”

He walks around, cautiously looking at the part where the whale oil tanks are meant to go – all _three_ of them.

Kisuke wakes up gasping for breath, chest heaving with sobs that are never anything more than silent breaths, hands twitching into signs without his control, and for a moment, he's not sure where he is - the cold stone bed of his cell where he is imprisoned, the rotting apartment he's dying of the plague in, or maybe, maybe it's just his old bed in the Tower, awoken from a long nightmare by Yoruichi, her golden eyes shining even in the gloom, where she sits by his bed, too far for him to reach. His head is full of flashes of the bloodstained gazebo, the flash of the assassin's blade, the assassin's face except his eyes are black-black-black and he's laughing with a high, cold, feminine laugh, and everything is _blue_ \- 

He blinks away the tears in his eyes to see that the person’s skin is _white_ and the eyes the wrong shape, and it _can’t_ be Yoruichi. Warm hands curl around his own, stilling his frantic signing, as Kurotsuchi crouches next to him, certain that he's awake enough to not lash out on instinct. He lets go after a second, but Kisuke can keep his hands frozen now without help, not moving, not pleading for help or calling for Yoruichi. 

" _You are at the Hounds Pits Pub. You are safe,_ " Kurotsuchi signs, hands moving slow lest he startle Kisuke. “ _I apologise. Empress Yoruichi is not here, only my own self."_

" _I understand,_ " he manages to get out.

" _Here. Drink._ " 

It's the usual glass, chipped at the edge, full of lukewarm herbal tea that makes it a little easier to make the sobs go down, make his breathing even out. His throat feels raw. Kurotsuchi must have noticed him having- him not sleeping well a while ago, if the tea's managed to go cold. (He pretends he doesn't notice Mayuri helping him hold the cup steady because his own hands shake too much, warm and gentle fingers brushing against his own.)

“ _Go inside. Warm up, please,”_ Kurotsuchi signs.

Careful hands help him up, and soon he’s bundled up in a warm, soft blanket, in a bed that Kurotsuchi must have just recently vacated, one that is right next to the brazier and its wonderful heat.

He falls back asleep to the sound of a soothing hum, a melody he doesn’t recognise, and the regular scratch of a pen against paper.

The fingers gently running through his hair must be nothing more than a callback to Yoruichi, a mere memory. Nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are very welcome!


	8. Chapter 8

Three weeks after the Unohana mission, Kisuke is finally summoned for the next assignment. Ukitake, for once, leads the briefing.

“From what Retsu has told us, and Teague’s investigations, we have determined that it is someone in Tsukishima’s household – either the man of the house, or his cousins Riruka or Jackie are involved with the Lord Regent. They are holding a party tonight – Shunsui and I have been issued invites, but we will give them to you, as well as an escort that will make your presence less… conspicuous. You will meet the escort by the entrance to the house – they have been sent ahead, to make their way there through legal means.

“You, however, will be taken there now through a more direct route, an hour before the opening of the party – that shall give you sufficient knowledge of the area to escape it quickly if necessary. You only need to discover and eliminate the _one_ person associated with the Regent – of course, as long as they are eliminated it truly does not matter how you go about it.”

Kisuke nods, slowly.

He feels.. fine enough today, and he’s recently stocked up on darts and vials. He is ready to go this very moment, in fact.

“I wish you luck – the escort has the tickets. It is a masquerade ball – look for the person with the butterfly mask when you arrive there; with your own mask, you do not require a new one.”

So that’s what he retrieved the outfit for. For an ally to use on a mission.

Samuel takes him happily enough – in the very direction of where, over the water, fireworks are being launched into the sky. The Estate District, but a different section than before.

He Flickers up and up, to get over the tall barrier between the canal and the main river, and from his high vantage point he sees something… new.

Tall stiltwalkers, oil tanks glowing on their backs, patrolling the area. As tall as the lampposts, and eliminating a batch of wandering Weepers with ease.

He will need to be very, very cautious.

Most of the houses on the left side of the canal are dilapidated and empty of life, and he picks through them for coin and food, munching down on everything he finds to build up energy for later.

The area is… scarce, in terms of what he can collect there. One rune, two bonecharms with ill effects that make them not worth taking, and he keeps his fingers crossed for the last location, carefully only Flickering across the highest roofs.

There’s a brief scare when he Flickers to a lamppost right in front of a stunned stiltwalker driver, the man’s expression just as shocked as Kisuke’s own under the mask, probably - before Kisuke Flickered away, out of sight.

The man didn’t raise an alarm, thankfully – must be thinking it is just a hallucination.

Or that Kisuke is way too much trouble to investigate, and definitely above his paygrade.

He halts his search for the last rune, when he hears a rough, street-kind of voice. Thugs. 

Curious, he Flickers lower, until he can hear them.

“We need those security systems taken down, before we can storm the place. You seen that fucking walls of light in the back entrance? We’ll be more fried than the houses we plunder and set on fuckin’ fire.”

“How the fuck do we manage that though? We can’t just take them down with magic or shit, and hiring someone like _Shinji_ is way out of-“

“No, you have an idea there. We don’t need his men to kill anything, just disable the security systems so we can burn that Tsukishima place to the fucking ground. Scare the nobles right proper, and kill that fucker in the meantime.”

That… is one part of an incentive for someone to leave their house, if he wants to deal with the supporter non-lethally. But how to make them do so permanently? He’ll need a little more than just that.

Maybe he can persuade someone else in the household to take the problem person away?

He Flickers down, until he stands in the alley in front of a bunch of Eleventh gang members. They spin around at the sound of his tapping foot, but calm down as they see his mask.

“Hey, aren’t you that guy who gave Yumichika his house? Would you do us a good turn - show the badge though, first.”

Kisuke pulls out the bird badge as proof of his identity, and then pulls the pad of paper out of his pocket, and writes.

“ _I’d like to cash in mine, actually.“_ so easy for him as to not even count as a favour, he thinks. “ _I_ _s your gang in the business of threats? I think I might need proof of your attack – not to prepare for it – but to scare someone out of the city. I can disable the security too, if you’d like.”_

The leader nods.

“Threats, that we do sometimes. Were planning to send one earlier, couldn’t get it in the house. Have it, and disable the devices an hour past midnight.”

The man hands over a folded piece of paper, stamped with an eleven.

Might come in very, _very_ handy.

He leaves the alley, to Flicker up and get the rune in that apartment.

He gets careless, gets attacked by two Weepers that were sitting, resting, not dead, and he wastes three darts to take them down, too disoriented to stop time.

Well. Seems he’s no longer ill enough to be ignored - he should be more careful with rats too, then.

A tripwire trap in front of the shrine nearly takes off his leg, and he thinks about whalebone madness while gulping down a red vial, before straightening, and taking the runes.

As he expected, the world plunges into darkness.

Kisuke can’t see where the Outsider is, this time. 

“Is this what you have longed for all those long months? A feast of flesh, of touch, an escort of your very own? Merriment and drinking?” The Outsider’s drawl is familiar and disdainful. “I have seen you walk this city, leaving little disturbed, wreaking changes. You have no end of mercy – if it can be called that – for those that have ruined your life. Will even the nobles receive _kindness_ from you tonight?

* * *

“ _You have stained this city with blood. How many more will be added to the count tonight, killed by the vengeful Ghost of the Empress?”_

* * *

_“You have been removing supporters with the surgical precision of a scalpel, sometimes turning your judgement on others. Will you be as precise tonight, or will you simply kill all three potential targets, for the sake of simplicity?_

_“Who are you, really - a surgical tool, or a well-trained hound?”_

* * *

“The end is so very close, and you have made choices that few would have. For the vicious pleasure of leaving your victims to life-long suffering? Or is it that you are the castrated hound of the Empress, all aggression gone?”

She vanishes before he can sign, before the reminder of Soi Fon’s methods make his insides ache with discomfort and shame.

He takes the runes from the shrine, hoping the Weeper stink won’t stick to his coat, and that the two, perhaps, never wake up from the sleeping darts.

Their disease is… too cruel.

The last of the runes and bonecharms collected, and with only minutes to spare, he Flickers across roofs and lampposts, careful to avoid the tallboys level with the lamppost tops, until he crosses the bridge again, and touches down in a small side-alley behind a gate, where waiting nobles loiter, waiting for their friends and acquaintances.

Then he sees his ally.

It is a courtesan, standing with their back to him, dressed in the very outfit he stole from the Golden Cat – but the outfit looks almost perfectly tailored to their body. If a little big, like it was made for someone less desperately skinny. They shiver in the evening chill.

Approaching them, he makes out more details. Dark hair, colour uncertain in the night, is in a braid over the left shoulder, and there is a beautiful, fragile ornament in their hair. Delicate leaves and flowers and branches, perhaps, almost sprouting from above and behind the right ear, long golden spokes with tiny flowers draped around.

High, terrifying stiletto heels turn the diminutive person into at least an average-height one.

That must be his escort.

He approaches, clearing his throat, and they turn around.

The mask is elegant, fitting to the face, and now Kisuke can make out the deep blue of the hair, the golden eyes. Of course. It makes so much sense.

Why Kyouraku has been pestering Kurotsuchi at night. The request for the outfit.

“ _Are you sure you want to do this?”_ he signs, cautiously. “ _I could find somewhere safe to leave you.”_

 _“It is fine. I have been to such parties before,”_ he says, handing over the invites to Kisuke.

“ _I_ _’m not going to say that you didn’t come. I promise.”_

With the mask, Kisuke cannot discern his expression. With the Loyalists paying all his bills – with their… admitted _preference_ for deadly eliminations, each time they send Kisuke on the mission, there is no way Kurotsuchi would ever have felt safe to refuse the request.

It is not fair.

“ _As a guest, you are_ expected _to bring some gift with you. A courtesan like me certainly makes for a good one. Pandyssians are_ exotic _, after all.”_

He shudders at the thought of what could happen if the mission somehow goes wrong, but he doubts he can change Kurotsuchi’s mind about this.

“ _I’ll owe you a favour, then. And, if you- if it gets too much, find me, and say - or scream, if need be. If you want out at any moment, tell me, yes?”_

Kurotsuchi nods impatiently.

Kisuke’s never done this before, but he has seen enough nobles swanning around with lovers, mistresses, and courtesans.

He goes up to the house with Kurotsuchi on his arm, already hearing the faint sounds of voices and music, and to where the guards are sat in a booth, watching the street.

“Invites, or no entrance,” one of them states, and Kisuke hands the invites over.

“This seems to be in order – let me get that for you.”

The guard open the door, and lets them into the grand lobby.

It is draped with white and gold cloths, golden balloons and ribbons attached to the walls and tables, music from audiographs playing loud enough that the people’s voices are muted.

It is almost _all_ nobles, of course, dressed for the occasion, with masks of assorted qualities and designs everywhere – hounds, birds, wolves, but he thinks he sees a rat and a housefly for a second somewhere.

There are guards walking through the area – officers, not the lower guard, for certain, and then Kisuke spots an Overseer standing in the corner, leaning against the wall, a music box strapped to his chest.

He must be careful.

“ _We ought to make a few circuits of these rooms, make sure the guards think we’re just ordinary guests – don’t vanish upstairs immediately, please,”_ Kurotsuchi signs, hands flickering quickly in small gestures that shouldn’t be visible to anyone else. “ _And we ought to talk to the nobles – Tsukishima, Dokugamine, Tristan, as they are the hosts.”_

Kisuke nods, and lets him take the lead, making his way through the talking and dancing nobles, exchanging pleasantries – “Oh, what a lovely mask!”, “I hope your business is thriving even in these times, Lord Ashworth,” and the like. Kurotsuchi knows a surprising amount of the male nobles by name. Then again, the Golden Cat caters to the higher end of society. These must be former regulars from work.

The first host they find is a short, red-haired woman with a bunny mask, leaving a conversation with several nobles.

“ _Riruka Dokugamine,”_ Mayuri fingerspells, and Kisuke nods in acknowledgement.

“Oh, that mask, how dreadful!” She says, when she sees them, faux-wailing in horror. “Truly, a masterful rendition of that rumoured Empress’ Ghost – do tell me who made it for you? And this butterfly mask, and outfit – oh, it is _so_ adorable!”

Kisuke signs, “ _What do I do?”_ at Mayuri, who shakes his head slightly.

“My lady, unfortunately, the tailor has recently departed the city – we would have been happy to provide the address. You also look most impressive today, however, and the skill of your own clothes makers exceeds that of our own,” he says, as though translating for Kisuke.

“That is truly a shame! Well, I hope you enjoy the party – in these dark times, with what is on the streets, we must strive to preserve the beauty in our lives, and celebrate it!” She sounds pleasant, cheerful, and Kisuke feels disgusted. “Perhaps you ought to find me later in the night – I have a feeling there is quite a pretty face, hidden by that horrid mask of yours.”

They move on, walking through a darkly-furnished room with bookshelves and chairs, guests standing around talking about their businesses and finances, listening to gossip – but despite learning a lot about the recent issues in the whaling industry, there is no _mention_ of the Lord Regent.

The room with a harp and piano is half-empty when they reach, no one attempting to play either – and Kisuke feels wistful, staring at them. 

Yoruichi has played the piano, what with a noble’s education and all – and he had mastered the harp, eventually, after too many comments about how fingers nimble enough to pickpocket half the guard during awareness training should be able to master the harp easily enough, to accompany her music.

It has been a long time since he played. But now is not the time to indulge himself.

The room after that hosts a massive banquet table – with more food than the people already present could possibly… A disgusted frown tugs at his face under the mask. Well, if they are nobles, they could probably manage to eat it all, used to absurd meals.

Not that the meals at the Tower were smaller in feast-times. But there hadn’t been any of those since the plague started, careful to conserve resources.

Nobles show no such consideration.

There are massive shaped globs of coloured jelly, green and purple and yellow, on a separate table, a large bouquet of flowers behind them.

The main table is covered with roast hares and fish and swans, with plates of grille vegetables, and freshly cut fruit, several kinds of side-dishes Kisuke isn’t sure he can remember, a large fountain of a dark alcoholic drink. And the main dish, a fish longer than Kurotsuchi is tall.

“ _Do you want to eat?”_ Kisuke signs.

“ _Not until we are done with our mission, I think.”_

The food smells delightful enough that Kisuke makes a note to steal some later, take it where he can eat it with his mask off and _not_ get arrested.

When they return to the lobby, Kisuke sees a tall woman with a black, hound-like mask, ascending the stairs, passing through the wall of light at their base – the other lady of the house, most likely. Tristan.

That is… unfortunate.

Suddenly, Kurotsuchi turns around, and presses himself right up to Kisuke, tilting his head upward as if for a kiss, hands on either side of his face, and for a second, Kisuke is frozen in shock and then Kurotsuchi whispers, “I think you can start exploring the upstairs, now. We won’t be able to talk to Tristan here, and… I have heard enough of Tsukishima. He will not reveal himself if he is the one. Go _.”_

Covering his left hand with his right, Kisuke surreptitiously casts the Vision, to see where the guards are.

Unfortunately, he doesn’t think he can discreetly Flicker upstairs – not from here, and not to the railing from the second floor. Is there another way up?

He walks another circuit of the ground floor, noting Tsukishima in a room on the right of the lobby, talking to an assortment of men.

Curious, he pulls the Heart out.

“ _Lust, for power and freedom more than money or fame. An altar in the attic, expensive offerings to a god that cares nothing for him.”_

An Outsider-worshipper. Interesting. 

“ _His tastes are extravagant. He only wants the best, the rarest, the most exotic. The young men and women he chooses are the prettiest on the Island, but his true partner was chosen for his mind and his unique interest in the Outsider. He misses him, and hopes he is safe, wherever he has fled.”_

Well. If Tsukishima is the one that needs to be dealt with… Kisuke now knows how to lure both him, and Riruka upstairs, if need be.

And the third one has already retired.

Time to hunt for clues, if the Heart does not feel like telling him which one is allied with the Lord Regent.

He keeps hold of it as he walks, curious about the place itself, about the party.

" _Old friends are cut from the guest list at the merest rumor of plague. None of the big families dare move without the approval of Tsukishima’s alliance,”_ it whispers as he gestures towards the guestbook, and then, " _Tonight the nobles try to conceal their indiscretions behind masks and costumes, even as they do things the Overseers present hate, but do not have the authority to stop. A night of Wanton Flesh to celebrate the dying of the city."_

There is another way upstairs – a staircase leading off from the banquet room, guarded by an Overseer and a guard.

He ducks into a curtained-off alcove nearby, and thinks, staring through the walls.

He could Flicker into the stairwell, and hope that the guard does not notice – and that no one inside the room happens to see him there.

And that no servant decides to come up, or down.

He’s playing with the Flicker directing, golden strands shifting and moving around, when suddenly the power _shifts_ , and he accidentally lets go.

His perception tilts to green, and he’s suddenly looking up at the floor from the ground and he feels- smoke like, insubstantial, absent, like a shadow – or, perhaps, he is literally a shadow now, the light golden lines constraining him into shape instead of letting him fade into nothing.

He tries to move, going for the small space underneath the tablecloth, to force through and hide under the table.

It turns out he still has… hands, formed of smoky blackness, long and clawed and inhuman, which he uses to cross the space in moment, slipping under the cloth without even disturbing it.

There’s a… a ventilation shaft of sorts, he thinks, leading from this room to the stairwell, and he moves quickly from his current hiding place, to the open grate, and then through it.

“What was that- a rat?” He hears someone curse quietly – the Overseer that he slipped by, perhaps.

He must be – not invisible, simply _stealthy_ , in this strange form.

Suddenly, his vision ripples, like water, and then his form- changes, reforming into his old body-

And he suddenly feels so _heavy_ , so tired, the ease of movement as a shadow showing just how... how difficult it still is in his flesh and blood body.

He creeps through the cellar first, skipping the kitchen where servants prepare even more food, and going down.

The door is locked, but it’s easy enough to pick.

There’s access to the river there, it turns out, and a boat, filled with emergency supplies, big enough for… several people to sit in, for certain.

There’s a note nearby, and he goes to read it.

_Lady Tristan,_

_The preparation are complete. The moment you and your relatives need to leave, you simply need to call for any of your loyal servants – Giriko, Yukio, and me. The boat will take us to a safe house, and further arrangements have been made as you requested. We should be able to vanish from Gristol with ease – but you would never again be able to contact us._

_Moeh._

He pulls the letter out of his jacket, and considers it.

If he delivers it to Tristan, she _will_ take it as a queue to flee. And take the others with her.

Is she the one that fears being assassinated for a connection with the Lord Regent, or is she simply being practical?

Time to investigate upstairs.

The second floor is as grand as the first, and a judicious use of Vision, Flickering, and Shadow lets him both loot it, and gain access to the bedrooms – avoiding the library, where Tristan sits and reads, listening to the party from upstairs. 

There are plenty of things to take from display cases and cupboards, and most importantly, there are diaries to read in each bedroom.

He finds Tristan’s first.

_Riruka has set aside more than enough spirits for the party tonight, I shouldn’t wonder. She wants to forget the way the city is dying – wants to party until the world ends._

_“Resignation is useless! Would that I could escape Dunwall already - for I have a terrible feeling that someone might be after us – but I have yet to convince Tsuki of a direct threat. If only someone would knock some sense into his head! Or knock him out._

If he delivers the threat, and ‘kidnaps’ Tsukishima for her, all three would leave Dunwall – it would not even matter which of them is connected to the Lord Regent, with all of them gone.

Still, he ought to investigate the other diaries, just in case.

_Finally! Tonight, tonight! The party is going to be so fabulous, so beautiful and fun as to break up the ugliness of the city. If only I could make everything cute and wonderful!_

_Perhaps I ought to bed a man, and another after that – someone impressive, someone real, not one of those posers that so often show up to the party._

_I am so sick of these dark, awful times. Every day is as dreary as the one before. Well not tonight! Tonight is for the living!_

_If only Tsuki would let us all escape to our hidden ancestral home…_

He picks up the upstairs rune, hidden in the attic alongside with treasure and an Outsider shrine, before he goes hunting for the last bedroom.

It is with the third diary that he strikes gold – after striking iron and leather several times while searching through cupboards, and finding an impressive amount of things whose general purpose he can recognise after the Golden Cat.

_My dear Kugo has had to go to ground, with his secrets exposed. It is dreadful indeed, and I wish him luck. Of course, with the measures the Lord Regent has put up – for our own security, of course, in the face of that blasted Urahara – or in his_ absent _face, rather, for none have sighted it since his very escape._

_Perhaps that Empress’ Ghost, the man in the mask of a cat, is him – he was sighted in areas before the disappearances of the others, by civilians through windows – never at the scenes of the crimes, of course._

_I do not doubt that we will catch him before long. At the very least, we could hire Shinji to finish the job, if we have to…_

That is the one.

Now, how to deliver the letter?

He ends up freezing time, and leaving the letter in the book the woman is reading, as well as a note, before Flickering into the shadows atop a high shelf, and watching her startle.

She reads the note and letter first, and then she does _not_ call the guards.

“Whoever you are – show yourself,” she says instead.

Sleeping dart ready, he drops down, and she turns her head to watch him.

“The Empress’ Ghost,” she murmurs. “Working for the gang, delivering death threats? Or here to rescue us from our fate?”

There is no way he can answer that – he can only remain silent and watchful.

She stands up, to face him.

“If your offer to take Tsuki to the cellar is true – then do so, before the hour is up. We cannot leave all at once, the guests would see and wonder and worry – and we must leave earlier than the time in the letter, to be safe. If you harm him, or kill him, I will set the guards on you, understand?”

He nods, as she walks over to the balcony overlooking the lobby, and he follows.

He can see Kurotsuchi, surrounded by several men, one of whom has a hand on his waist and the other tugging at the leather choker around his neck, and another man’s hand is creeping up a thigh and under the skirt.

Kisuke’s hand twitches to his sword, while Tristan watches Kurotsuchi laugh, and say something in a soft, pleasant voice that makes the noble pull him closer, get even handsier.

He looks away, unable to watch, and sees Tsukishima staring in Kurotsuchi’s general direction, ignoring the noblewomen trying to speak to him.

“Your escort is beautiful – at least half-Pandyssian, yes? You can use him as bait to lead my cousin upstairs – he will not be able to resist such an offering. Now, let me escort you downstairs, and notify the guards that you are permitted on all floors.”

He follows her, watches the Wall of Light get adjusted to permit him passage, and then descends.

Kurotsuchi notices him, and gently detaches himself from the interested nobles with a saccharine laugh and smile and gesture in Kisuke’s direction, before walking over, his hips swaying, and then following him to the banquet room.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kisuke can see Tsukishima following them.

Tsukishima… He knows enough Morleyan to know that Tsuki means _moon_ – or at least, that’s one definition. That’ll be faster than fingerspelling the name again.

He signs, “ _We want the moon. Can you…”_ and after a second of incomprehension, Kurotsuchi lets out a soft sigh of understanding.

“Of course. He has been eyeing me since you left – nod at him, then walk away. I have a sleeping dart – once we’re alone, I can deal with him.”

Kisuke chooses not to question where in that skimpy outfit the dart is hidden – under the corset, maybe, but he really doesn’t feel like asking for a confirmation of that theory.

He looks over at Tsukishima, nods, and then demonstratively walks away from Kurotsuchi, not looking back until he’s in the Lobby, and can use Vision to watch them through the people and the walls.

Tsukishima approaches – they start talking, clearly, he can hear soft, flirting laughter, and then the target gets so close that he _must_ be groping Kurotsuchi.

* * *

_When Tsukishima slips both his hands under the far-too short skirt, clearly to feel up everything barely concealed under it, mere moments after yet another noble had finished doing the same… Kisuke sees red. Or maybe blue, blue as the Void’s light._

_Somehow... this is worse than the Overseers, all guilty as_ sin _and deserving execution. This is not- the guards at the Golden Cat, they hadn’t even known what they were doing, guarding Emily, and only... only the ones marked out by the Heart as cruel and callous had been touched by death that day. Had been touched by his bolts and rats._

_This..._

_None of the nobles remark on how they treat Kurotsuchi like a toy, to be groped and taken and passed around for their pleasure, while being the same men and women who would curse at his hair and eyes and skin if they were not offered up for their pleasure. None of them see an issue with liking him only as long as he’s nothing more than a toy, instead of a fellow citizen, fellow human._

_Kisuke feels oddly distant from himself as he casts a green barrier around Kurotsuchi, and summons the swarm. Everything feels_ unreal _, as he Flickers behind the two Overseers with music boxes and beheads them._

_He is doing this for Kurotsuchi. He just wants to keep him safe, untouched, clean, happy._

_The nobles scream._

_The rats are too many, and he Flickers around them like a shadow, following the ones trying to get out through the front door._

_A party that is now a bloodbath, a feast for rats and nothing more._

_The rats deal with the last survivors on that floor as he goes upstairs. The guards there are easy pickings – he Flickers behind them, kills them, splattering their blood on the walls and floor._

_Let this place be a warning, he thinks._

_He finds Kurotsuchi downstairs, ignored by the vanishing rats, leaning against one of the few walls to be free of blood._

_He’s holding a bottle of champagne, pouring it into a glass and knocking it back like something stronger, hands trembling._

_He looks- fragile, the revealing clothing highlighting how frail he is, how long he must have been going hungry for – never paid enough, overcharged for food and water and every basic necessities._

_He wants to kill_ everyone _that allows that._

_Watching him reach for a second bottle, a cold realisation dawns on him._

_Oh. Kurotsuchi, a civilian, is not used to this – this blood, this death, and Kisuke wants to apologise, because he didn’t_ mean _to hurt him, he just wanted him safe, safe, safe like he couldn’t make Yoruichi safe-_

_He’s signing apologies, over and over, hunched over on the floor, and Mayuri is crouched in front of him, eyes slightly glazed over from the alcohol, but still sharp enough._

_He is guided – away, to a staircase where there are no dead, only silence and the faint stench of blood._

_He’s not sure whether he’s shaking with silent, raucous laughter, or sobs._

_Careful fingers fish through his pockets, until they find the sedative-drenched rag, then remove his mask, and let him breathe in the sedatives._

_The scent is overwhelming, but drowning out the blood, and he closes his eyes, listens merely to the quiet breathing and the sound of Mayuri carefully draining the bottle dry._

_“I’d offer you alcohol, but we still have to get home,” Mayuri says, after a while, gently rubbing circles into Kisuke back, through the thick layers of shirt and vest and coat._

_Soothing. Calming._

_Kisuke does not deserve this, not after traumatising the charge he is meant to protect._

_Fail, failed, failure, just like with his Yoruichi._

_(Somewhere inside he still feels horror at the blood. Somewhere. Mostly it is lost in numb obedience to orders. He is so tired. When will it all be over?)_

_“Let’s go home, okay? Take us back to Samuel, Kisuke,” the soft voice sounds in his ear, gentle and friendly and familiar, and he obeys._

* * *

After a few minutes of flirting, Tsukishima takes Kurotsuchi upstairs, clearly satisfied with the offering.

He glances at a clock.

He’ll give them three minutes, maybe? Five, and then walk upstairs.

The guards let him go up even on his own – Tristan’s side of the deal holding true – and he walks over to the bedroom, Vision active, and showing one tall, prone figure on the floor, Kurotsuchi sitting on the bed.

The door isn’t locked, and he goes inside.

Kurotsuchi looks ruffled, holding his left wrist oddly, massaging his ankle with the right, and a red, angry bite mark on his neck, just above the choker. A long golden pin, drawn from the hair ornament, is lying in front of him on the bed.

“He noticed me scratching him with the poisoned spike as I was taking it off,” he explains. The stuff is potent, but not immediate in such a low dose, and he… assumed I wanted some rough treatment in return,” he gestures at the bite, the wrist with the lightest of bruises starting to form, and a leg that must have been kicked out from under him, to make him fall on the bed, or kneel.

Kisuke, for a moment, seriously considers just beheading Tsukishima, and then running away with Kurotsuchi before anyone notices.

* * *

_He’s killed all the other allies of the regent, and he has even fewer reasons to want to spare this man._

_He beheads him, and watches the corpse fall away into ash, the rune power he hadn’t even noticed acquiring._

_Kurotsuchi give him a grim smile._

_“_ We should wait here for a while. Then leave, while everyone thinks the man is still alive, merely resting here,” _he signs._

* * *

“I will be _fine_ , Kisuke. Now, what do you want to do with him?”

“ _Take him to the cellar. He will be removed from the city, but not killed. Wait here.”_

Kurotsuchi doesn’t argue, continuing to massage his injured ankle.

Kisuke drags Tsukishima’s unconscious body down to the cellar in frozen time, running when he feels the spell fading, and only getting to the lowest level _just_ in time.

Tristan and one of the servants are waiting there for him already.

He drops the body off silently. Tristan nods grimly in thanks.

“Keep your friend upstairs for a while, so that it doesn’t look suspicious that Tsuki finished with him so quickly. And afterwards, everyone will think Tsukishima is merely taking a break after his fun. Disable the security device at the main staircase and the back entrance only after midnight.”

Kisuke nods, and leaves.

His job is done, almost. Time to wait.

Kurotsuchi is still waiting for him in the bedroom, nursing his injured wrist and ankle, and Kisuke feels a sharp pang of guilt. He shouldn’t have let him handle it alone, he should have followed and _interfered_.

He starts to sign apologies, again, but Kurotsuchi shakes his head.

“It is _fine_. Let us… wait here, and then return to the party – if we have time, I would like to sample some of the foods downstairs.”

They sit in silence, Kurotsuchi lying down on the bed properly, seemingly content to take a nap, and Kisuke watches the clock.

Almost an hour passes before Kurotsuchi deems it safe to go downstairs.

“I must admit, my ankle will not thank me, but we cannot remain here forever either”, he grumbles.

Kisuke bites his lip, considers, and then slowly and deliberately, giving him enough time to flinch away or say no, he scoops Kurotsuchi up from the bed, right arm supporting his back, left arm under his knees. Kurotsuchi makes a noise of surprise, but doesn’t stop him, simply slinging his left arm around Kisuke shoulder.

The guard at the back entrance doesn’t even blink at the sight of Kisuke carrying Mayuri down.

With no immediate need to leave, and plenty of time to waste before needing to disable the alarms, they end up stuck in the banquet room, Kisuke carefully setting Mayuri down on a chair, and then bringing him a little bit of everything to try, including the sparkling white wine, while surreptitiously pickpocketing the guests.

One of them notices, but doesn’t report him to the guard – merely whispers, “I got a servant to sew me a second, secret pocket for the occasion – everyone steals, here,” and lets Kisuke go and pick the money pouch of a rotund older man boasting about his repeated trips to Pandyssia, and the treasures he brought from the depths of the Lost Continent.

Similarly, it turns no one even minds stealing plates and napkins to take food away – and he ends up stealing enough food for several meals, just because he _can._

An hour past midnight, they leave – not via the front door, but through the garden, strolling out of sight before Kisuke Flickers them to a balcony of a nearby building, and then sets Mayuri down on a roof.

“ _I will return soon,”_ he signs, and then Flickers back to the garden, returning to the party.

It’s almost one.

He stops time, and turns into a shadow to get into the room with the oil tank for the Wall of Light in the Lobby, and the Wall set up right in front of the door leading to a small back garden.

He has a thought.

In stopped time, he signs his name in the guest book, and then leaves the premises via the garden again. If someone finds it- well. That will be more than a bit amusing, wouldn’t it?

“ _Do you want to stay and watch?”_ he signs to Kurotsuchi, but gets a negative shake of the head in return.

“Let’s just… go.”

Samuel is still waiting in the same place as he arrived at, and Kisuke Flickers there with Mayuri in his arms, setting him gently down into the boat.

“Rough night?” Samuel asks in concern, turning on the motor and starting the journey back.

“It went satisfactorily. Tsukishima will be far away, soon, and no longer a threat,” Kurotsuchi says, and then yawns.

“Good job, you two. I guess that means we’re almost done, eh?” 

Samuel quiets down, and lets them sit in silence, resting.

Kurotsuchi is asleep, head resting on Kisuke’s chest by the time the boat gets to the Hound Pits, and- Kisuke can swear that he can see the hint of an amused smile on Samuel’s face at the sight.

It’s so late that no one is awake, bar Teague, still poring over maps and notes in the pub.

“The supporter has been removed,” Kurotsuchi says, suppressing another tired yawn. “Our mission was successful.”

“I am most happy to hear that – we can move against the Lord Regent himself, soon, with the last supporter gone. Perhaps even tomorrow, before he can attempt to flee out of our reach. Your performance is as impressive as ever, Kisuke,” Teague says, and then crosses off something on a map.

Kisuke signs, “ _I couldn’t have done it without help,”_ but Kurotsuchi shakes his head, not translating what he says, and motions to leave.

“I will… go wash,” Kurotsuchi murmurs tiredly, massaging his slightly swollen ankle as he sits down on a bench in the workshop. “All those nobles with their unhygienic practices make my skin crawl. Just need to pick up some clean clothes to change into…”

Kisuke Flickers upstairs, stripping out of his coat and washing his hands in an instant of frozen time, picking out a set of sleep-worthy clothes, and Flickering back down.

Mayuri blinks at him, startled.

“You wouldn’t help me get to the good bathroom in the attic, would you?” he asks, clearly half-joking, but Kisuke simply grips his shoulder when he stands up, and then Flickers them quickly, up the ledges, through the windows, and to the bathroom, Mayuri staggering slightly from the lost balance.

This is _just_ like looking after Yoruichi after a long day of meetings, or formal events, or balls, except with supernatural aid. Get home, strip out of complicated clothes, help wash an excessive amount of hair, carry to bed.

A thoughtful smirk creeps across his face.

He sets the clothes on the edge of the sink, and signs, “ _Would you like me to help you with the clothes and hair?”_

Mayuri stares at him, then shrugs, a yawn escaping his mouth.

“Fine.”

A courtesan’s outfit is not as intricate as an empress’ one, if containing the kind of tights and gloves that are a little hard to remove without tearing, and Kisuke tries not to blush at the way his hands have to linger for so long on Mayuri’s thighs.

The hair ornaments are easy enough to remove, letting the hair spill out in waves of post-braid curls, and the rest of the clothes end up in a small pile without fuss, including the thin, lacy underwear that in no world could actually be comfortable to wear.

Mayuri sinks to his knees in the shower, his back to Kisuke, exhausted, ankle clearly still injured, so Kisuke has to remove the showerhead from where it’s set and draw it out with the length of pipe, and kneel down himself – after discreetly pouring some salts into the bath, and some oil, and turning on the water.

The scented shampoo barely foams, and Kisuke is careful to let the water run through the length of the hair, is careful not to tangle it too much as he massages the shampoo into Kurotsuchi’s scalp, and then through the hair, the water set to a soft pressure to stay nice and relaxing.

The hair is as thick as Yoruichi’s had been, and if he closes his eyes he can almost imagine that the last seven months were just a horrible dream. That he’s with her, again.

But they’re not, he knows, and... thinking that is a disservice to Kurotsuchi.

Once he finishes with the hair, he hands a bar of soap for Kurotsuchi to help scrub himself clean, showerhead returned to the top, water falling like a gentle rain.

While he cleans, Kisuke checks the water temperature in the bath.

Warm, not too hot, good for relaxing tense muscles, and now filling the room with the scent of flowers.

Fishing some stolen and stored candles out of the Void, he places them around the room, and lights them.

Shame that he doesn’t have any rose petals.

Done with the washing, Kurotsuchi turns around, and hisses in surprise.

“ _Thank you,”_ he signs, unwilling to break the soft, hanging silence, and Kisuke shakes his head, helping him step out of the shower and get into the small tub without slipping on the tiles, settling down into the warm water. “ _You ought to clean yourself, too.”_

“ _The servant’s shower ought to suffice for the purpose. Except- can I look at your wrist and ankle, first, Kurotsuchi-san?”_

_“If you’re getting this familiar with my body, maybe you should just start calling me by my given name?”_

He leaves _Mayuri_ half-asleep in the water, wrist and ankle gently massaged to reduce the stiffness and pain, and a quiet alarm set to wake him in a while, and goes to the workshop.

 _Mayuri_ had signed that he was not going to sleep through the night anyway, and that it was cold and starting to rain outside, so Kisuke ought not to get ready for bed – but sleep inside. 

So he does.

There’s a set of soft footsteps coming up the stairs that startles him out of the light doze while he waits for Kurotsuchi- no, Mayuri, to return.

The man looks... relaxed, happy, tension gone from his spine and shoulders when he appears on the staircase, hair wrapped in a towel.

“ _Kisuke, you’re awake. Would you… would you mind terribly if we shared the bed? It is only that I am far too tired to work downstairs._ ”

Kisuke’s brain briefly short-circuits at the suggestion. He’s too tired to leave, but making Mayuri have to wait till morning to rest - or sleep on the floor..

He nods, watching Mayuri retrieve extra blankets, and settle down next to him – not close enough to be touching him.

* * *

_Mayuri has… a faint aura of sadness and regret and maybe_ terror _when Kisuke sees him walking up the stairs._

_Kisuke scares him. He doesn’t like that he scares Mayuri._

_But he doubts there’s anything he can do to reassure him that he would never harm him. Only those who would try to hurt him, or take him away from Kisuke._

“Kisuke, you’re awake. Would you permit me to share your bed with you? It is only that I am far too tired to work downstairs. I would not ask if...”

_No, he doesn’t mind, not after everything he put Mayuri through this evening. He deserves a good rest._

_If he can stand sleeping next to a murderer._

* * *

He wakes up in the middle of the night, and for a second, thinks he’s with Yoruichi, because there is a warm body against his own, only nightclothes and blanket between them, a head resting on his chest, and his own arms wrapped around- not Yoruichi, because he can smell a floral scent that he never had with her. Mayuri, of course, curled up against him, warm and comfortable, and Kisuke sighs.

The last time he had been so close to someone- No, rather, the last time he had been close with someone of his _own_ volition, had been… he struggles to remember.

Three months away from Dunwall, then… six months in prison, and now, about a month and a half since he escaped. Ten months and a bit.

Close to a year, really.

Why is...

What does Mayuri want from him? He’s not interested in sleeping with him, that is certain. He knows Kisuke can’t- can’t do that. 

But then- Why?

Has Mayuri been courting him, these last weeks, as an attempt to get on his good side? Attempting to get a rich patron or something?

No. If he was, then he’d be sleeping with Kyouraku and Ukitake, whose fortunes are assured, whether Kisuke succeeds in his missions or not.

If he can have this peace, just for one night - he won’t ruin it by overthinking it. 

Not tonight.

He shifts, loosening his grip on Mayuri, laying one hand on his back, fingers splayed, and drifts asleep to the sound of quiet breathing, holding on to Mayuri like a lifeline.

Distantly, he feels some of the rune-power flicker and fade, but he doesn’t pay attention to it, doesn’t wonder.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Comments make my day, as always, and I'm super interested to hear what you think of this chapter (the long-running tension coming to a head, the reason for that outfit theft...  
> And we're coming up to the end of the fic!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally the Lord Regent is going down! Kisuke shall get his justice and avenge Yoruichi and put the kid Empress on the throne!

Kisuke wakes up late the next day. Four hours past noon, the clock says, less than two hours before sunset. That is… a lot of sleep.

There is a still-warm indentation in the blankets next to him – Mayuri must have woken up only recently, and decided to let him rest some more.

He feels… warm. Comfortable. Safe, almost, whatever dark dreams that had come this night having left no impression.

Unwilling to consider that further, he crawls out of bed, to dress, and investigate the area for any leftover lunch.

Inside the pub, he finds himself ambushed by the entire contingent of Loyalists, gathered by the bar. They’re clearly busy plotting, surrounding a map laid out on the counter.

“Ah, Kisuke, good of you to join us!” Kyouraku smiles at him. “We have good news.”

Teague nods. “The nobles and the Abbey have withdrawn their support of the Lord Regent earlier this morning – I have been promoted to High Overseer, and the fire at the house and apparent death of Tsukishima have left the nobles with no trust in the Regent’s methods. He no longer has the funding for as much security, or the bribed guards – especially not when the Parliament has seized funding. Even today, he is much less secure than before.”

Kisuke nods.

“He is gathering his allies in the Tower – if we strike tonight, we may well catch him off-guard – he will not think we will move so soon after yesterday’s actions,” Yamamoto says out loud. “You will depart at sundown; sharp paranoia means he will have made unwise decisions today about the guards. We can not give him time to regroup, or think through the haze of panic and start making good decisions.”

Another mission, already?

Then again...

There is nothing to wait for, not anymore.

And he doubts that _any_ number of guards or security devices will be able to stop him from freezing time, and simply walking all the way up to the top of Dunwall Tower, armed only with a sword and blue vials.

“Are you ready for this?” asks Havelock, eyes boring into Kisuke’s.

He nods.

“You will depart the moment there is no more daylight remaining. Now go, and prepare. Oh, and this may be of interest to you. The Royal Interrogator is in the Tower today. If you want, you can go deal with her too.”

He spends the two hours before departure watching Emily talk to Mayuri in his workshop, Mayuri working on something, Emily drawing on a table, and Unohana reading in the corner. Evidently, it is Ichigo who is on bacteria-watching duty at the moment.

Callista eventually brings them all dinner, and they eat – but… he can’t bring himself to join them.

He doesn’t want to disturb the idyllic scene with his presence.

He knows that tonight, more than any other night, there is a possibility that he will wind up dead.. The Lord Regent is expecting him. _Waiting_ for him. Unlike the others, who had not known that he was coming for them.

If he fails-,he dies. And worse – the Loyalists, Emily, Mayuri, they all depend on him succeeding. If the Lord Regent stays in power - he’ll be able to salvage the situation eventually. Rats like that always do.

He… it somehow feels like bad luck, to talk to them before he leaves. Like he’ll be saying goodbye for the final time.

He doesn’t know why, but he feels like death stalks _him_ tonight. 

He Flickers from the roof straight down to the street when the time comes, walking to the boat slowly, purposefully. This will be the last time he needs to do this. Soon enough, he will be back in the Tower.

Before he can get in, however, he hears running – and turns around to see Emily, holding something white in her hands, trying to get to him.

She tucks it under her arm before she signs.

“ _Kisuke, before you go – I found this on the shore. I slept with it under my pillow, but it made me dream of a black-eyed woman. You can have it, for good luck. I know you’re going for the Regent.”_

It’s a rune, and he stares at it warily, before signing, “ _My greatest thanks, my Lady_.”

Emily giggles, before frowning.

“ _Come back, okay?”_

_“I promise.”_

He gets into the boat, and Samuel gets the boat going.

He does not speak on the way.

It is close to midnight when they approach the waterlock by the Tower.

“Good luck, Kisuke. This has gotta be the hardest thing you’ve ever done – but I have faith in ye. Ya gotta make sure you make it back to that kid, ye hear me?”

Kisuke leaves, Flickering from the boat into the water, and then further into the waterlock, feeling the cold start to seep into him immediately, sodden clothes dragging him down.

He Flickers to the nearest ledge in the lock, and then to the next, shivering and shaking.

He needs to be careful – wet footsteps might be visible in the dark, shining and reflective under light.

He is still intimately familiar with Dunwall Tower and its surroundings. And with that assassination, he knows the best route to travel to go undetected – as far as the gazebo, at least.

He Flickers to the very top of the Waterlock, picking up a rune stuck in a drain, and checks to make sure that he emerges out of sight of the guards, and then Flickers to a balcony, and then higher – up the roof.

The air is cold, the wind blowing hard, and he walks unsteadily across the roof, the right lense of the mask zoomed in as much as it can be, to scan the area ahead for guards.

There is a watchtower and an arc pylon in the center of the courtyard, guards walking around – and two stiltwalkers to boot, one outside the waterlock, the other in the courtyard. 

They shouldn’t see him if he Flickers quickly to a ledge leading to the garden around the gazebo, and then into the gazebo itself.

The prediction holds true.

He Flickers there, and then crouches, out of sight.

It is...

Strange, to be here once again.

The last time he was here, Yoruichi died.

Now, here he is, once again, Yoruichi present in... spirit, at least. And he himself on the way to commit murder. Probably.

In the gloom, he can’t quite make out what is written on the metal plaque set into the memorial stone – but the Vision aids him with that.

_In Memory of her Majesty,_

_Yoruichi Kalwdin-Shihouin,_

_Mother of Emily,_

_Empress to us all._

He pulls the Heart out, fingers trembling.

 _"We have both been here before,”_ she whispers. “ _I am so cold. What have they done to me?”_

A few hot tears make their way down his cheeks. But he is not here to mourn.

There will be time for that later.

* * *

_In frozen time, he disables the alarm system, and rewires the arc pylon._

_All of these guards - they protect the traitor. The Lord Regent. They are loyal to him. They’d give their lives for him._

_And he’s happy to take them._

_Bolts hang frozen in the air, waiting for time to restart, and find their targets._

_He stays in the shadows, counting down, and watches the closest guards fall, some to the bolt, and others to the arc pylon, electricity frying them to death._

_More guards shout, and rush over, and now he summons his rats, watching them rip through the few guards that remain alive._

_In the darkness, the courtyard looks black with blood._  
  


* * *

He stores the Heart – under the coat, this time, not in the Void. He wants her to- know, maybe that he is dealing with the one that caused her death, finally.

He freezes time, downs a blue vial, and Flickers across the courtyard and then to a ledge, and then to a ventilation hatch that leads into the main lobby of the tower. He picks the lock quickly, hoping no one will see him perched there.

The Heart beats enticingly, suggesting there is a bonecharm or a rune nearby – but no. Tonight, he is here for the Lord Regent – and he will not be distracted from his goal.

He slides it open, and crawls through.

The place is… much as he remembers it, the décor blue and gold, the large space patrolled by guards in the nighttime.

And...

The Lord Regent himself is standing there, half-way up the staircase, talking to some guards from behind thick glass in a secured room.

Kisuke can’t make out what is being said, not quite – and is not certain he cares.

Now he just needs to find a way to get rid of him.

* * *

_He is so very close to being able to kill the man. He just needs to get around the security, and then- it’s over. Or Kisuke could wait for him to retire to bed, ambush him there. Kill him in the place he feels safest._

* * *

The Heart speaks into his thoughts, unbidden.

_"How I misplaced my trust! Now that I see so well, I know how truly blind I was. It was he who brought the rats, the rats brought the plague. There is no man more accursed."_

Of anyone Kisuke has had to eliminate to reach him, he deserves to die the most, it is true, but...

Perhaps he deserves to see the inside of Coldridge’s cells for himself, experience that life on his own skin.

With difficulty, Kisuke decides to Flicker to the closest floor instead. He is unsure what room the Lord Regent resides in – it may take time to find it, search it for anything useful.

He turns into a shadow to travel quickly along the length of the corridor, Vision active – but nothing gleams with importance in the rooms he passes, nothing interesting – not even in what used to be his own room, which he doesn’t have quite the nerve to enter. He doesn’t want to see what they’ve done with it.

FInally, he reaches the end of the corridor, and finds a handle shining by the fireplace.

Checking for the presence of closeby guards, Kisuke pulls the statue of the deer – and there is a quiet grating noise as the back wall in the fireplace rises, revealing a secret room.

He had not known of this. Could it be new?

He slips inside, and presses a button to close the door behind him.

There is a bonecharm, and an audiograph with a card inserted – and some supplies, canned food, a bed, a pistol and bullets.

He cautiously activates the audiograph, and Yoruichi’s voice sounds, clear and undistorted, a sharp punch to the gut.

_“Kisuke, my dearest, closest friend – I miss you. If there is anyone else I could trust, you would have stayed here, your blade at my side. But the Spymaster was right to insist that I send you – if anyone can come back safe, it is you._

_“I miss your counsel – and your_ occasionally _useful habit of prying into the private affairs of all those that come to my court, sometimes revealing important information, and even conspiracies. I miss your asshole humour, and the way you make it seem like nothing is impossible._

_“The kiddo is difficult to manage alone – she has your mind for curiosity, more than a mind for rulership._

“ _Hurry home, Kisuke – something is coming, I can feel it, and I think I will need your skills soon.”_

There is something sharp and jagged in his chest, making it impossible to breathe.

Her voice, undistorted by death and the Void...

He will leave this here, for now, to recover later.

The Lord Regent’s room turns out to be a floor higher, overlooking the lobby. Overseers with musicboxes patrol the floor and stairs, the sound, even from a distance, already bringing on a headache and dulling his powers.

He avoids the corridor, looking for another route.

The best way to get there is via returning to the entrance hall, and Flickering to the balcony. Thankfully, there are no Overseers in range there.

Perhaps, while they may be present, the Lord Regent is not fully aware that his adversary has actual powers - merely suspects it. Or perhaps he fears the Whalers will come for him.

There is a safe inside, something shining in it. An audiograph card.

He’s not sure he has the time to pick the lock.

If only his hearing was so sensitive that he _could_ hear the right numbers, without special equipment...

The last of the runes in his blood fizzle out, and then...

Sounds, smells, his sight get sharper, more detailed, almost overwhelmingly so. The bright light in the room is painful to his eyes, but none of his magic is spent. Some kind of permanent boost?

His ear to the safe door, shuddering at the level of ambient noise outside, he carefully finds the combination, nine-three-five-one, and opens it.

He grabs the ingots, and the audiograph – and flees the room, hearing the approaching footsteps.

* * *

_He waits, hiding on top of the bed, and watches the Lord Regent enter the room, alone._

_There are guards outside the door - but they patrol, and Kisuke waits for them to get further away, before he Flickers down, to stand right in front of the Lord Regent._

_The man’s eyes merely have time to widen in horror, his mouth starting to open to scream for help - but by then, Kisuke’s sword is already in the process of beheading him, splattering the pristine white floor and wall with blood._

_It is done._

_Now… to deal with Soi Fon, or to leave? Or do something with the audiogrpah card?_

_It will not be long before the corpse is discovered…_

_Soi Fon first, then the audiograph._

* * *

_He overhears a conversation between two guards outside the door._

_“The Lord Regent will be sleeping in the secured rooms upstairs, tonight. What with those bloody slaughters… The Overseers, the Golden Cat guards, the guards at the Kaldwin Bridge, and then that nightmare last night - at least we know who’s behind it all. He signed his name in the guest book.”_

_“Do you think we’re safe here?”_

_“Who the hell even knows, right? I guess the only one who might be safe is the Lord Regent, in his safe room upstairs. In the throne room.”_

_“Outsider’s… I hope we survive tonight.”_

_Both of them are torn to shreds by his shadow form, like the rest of the guards he’s been encountering in the Tower tonight._

_He’ll play the audiograph card first, if it’s a confession._

_The Lord Regent knows he’s coming for him anyway._

* * *

The headquarters station for the broadcast system for the whole city is housed in the Tower itself, he knows, the announcer in charge of it there almost every hour of the day. Less a news reporter than a propaganda officer, these days. If that is a _confession_ in his hands…

The office in the left corner of where he entered the lobby, on the fourth floor and accessible only via a staircase, is guarded, but there’s a tiny gap that his shadow form should be able to get through near the top, and he Flickers there.

There is a man, in the office, the broadcaster, and Kisuke’s shadowy form pools into the office, swirling around as he thinks. He could knock the man out.

But he does not know how to operate the machinery, he is not certain he could do this alone.

His sword should be threatening enough.

He resumes a human shape, and approaches the man, tapping him on the shoulder.

The man yelps.

“Who- what- Oh!” he exclaims. “Is it- The Empress’ Ghost!” He looks terrified. “I swear, I want nothing to do with the man, but I’m not allowed to leave the job! He’s recorded a confession about the plague, the foul man, in his office, the code, the safe code-“

Kisuke cuts off the terrified rambling by pulling the card from out of his pocket, handing it over to the man, who stares at him in terrified awe, before snatching it out of his hand.

“Well then, let’s play this right away!”

He plugs the card into a slot, and then does… several things with the multiple switchboards, until the loudspeakers outside start to play, faintly audible through a window – to his ears, at least. The Lord Regent’s voice broadcast for the whole city to hear.

“ _If I explain, then you will see, I am not at fault. My Poverty Eradication Plan was meant to bring prosperity to the City, to rid us of those scoundrels who waste their days in filth and drink, without homes or occupations other than to beg for the coin for which the rest of us toil. And worst of all, that filth from Pandyssia – the true Pandyssians, their children, their grandchildren._

_“I had the simplest plan! Bring the bull rats, the plague rats, from the depths of Pandyssia, and let them devour the poor. At first, it was perfect – the poor, the homeless, the street-workers fell ill and perished. But then, the rats evaded the catchers and spread, breeding like flies, and soon even the rich and worthy were ill!_

_“People started asking questions then. The Empress assigned an investigation to me – were the rats imported on the word of another island’s ruler? Her loyal dog Urahara watched everything, and together, they could have made the truth come out even faster!_

_“There was no other way. I had to kill her. She had to die. SHE HAD TO DIE._

_“It was hard, but I managed to get her Lord Protector out of the way – almost not long enough!_

_“And then, finally, I could take the right measures. Quarantines! Deportation of the sick! “Executing the sick ones, in the end, to ensure their illness would not spread! But there’s always some ridiculous woman searching for a lost child, some man searching for a vanished wife. And then quarantine is broken! Nothing works, because no one follows orders!_

_“But you can see how my plan should have worked? Would have worked! If everyone had just followed orders!”_

* * *

_Soon enough, the guards will go to his room to fetch him, and they will find him dead._

_It is time for Kisuke to leave._

* * *

_Now, he has no time to waste._

_Kisuke stalks up the staircases to the tallest part of the Tower, housing the quarters of the Empress and the Throne room._

_The floors below are drenched in the blood of traitors, the broadcast of the Regent’s confession screaming across the city._

_The guards had not seen what killed them in frozen time, tossed grenades at Overseers, and sniped the whale oil tanks on the stiltwalkers’ backs._

_The Lord Regent does._

_Kisuke walks up to the man, now frozen in terror, hiding behind the throne he sought so much._

_“Please, please don’t-“ the man is pleading, terrified, weapons forgotten in the face of death that mowed down guards and Overseers without hesitation._

_Kisuke removes his mask, letting the man see who has come, before he turns into a shadow – and his strange, clawed hands tear the man limb from limb, the blood not sticking to a shape less corporeal than mist._

_Kisuke walks back to the boat at the bottom of the waterlock across corridors and courtyards red with spilled blood, and the occasional displaced limb. There’s doubtlessly going to be more guards arriving soon, to arrest the Lord Regent – or what’s left of him._

_He has done what was asked of him. He hopes the Loyalists will be satisfied with his work, will be proud._

_(He hopes Yoruichi would have been proud, would have been happy that all who harmed her, all who supported her murderer, are now dead at his own hands. He couldn’t protect her in life, but… at least he fulfilled her will. He’s made the city a safer place.)_

_(The Heart weeps in his mind. He does not understand why.)_

* * *

In minutes, it feels like, guards storm the front door to the Tower, led by Captain Curnow, and call out for the Lord Regent.

In minutes, he returns - going to meet them personally, instead of from behind the glass.

“What is this? Why are you here?” he can hear the Lord Regent say. “I have not summoned for you- leave!”

“You are under arrest for conspiracy against the state, conspiracy against the people, the murder of the Empress, and the kidnapping of her daughter.”

“I- I am not-“

Two guards grab him, and drag him away, leaving Curnow behind – to organise and inform the men unaware of the broadcast, most likely.

This is… satisfying. 

If it’s more satisfying than if he had killed him.. he can’t say.

He’ll suffer in Coldridge, and likely die anyway.

Just not at Kisuke’s hands.

Suffer…

The thought brings him to a halt.

The Loyalists had told him that Soi Fon had been moved to the Tower, along with the rest of the supporters.

Meaning she is here. Meaning she is _alive_ , and down in the dungeons, probably.

He… he could… _deal_ with her. Take his revenge – or stop her from hurting anyone ever again.

But- No. 

He can deal with her legally, later. 

He doesn’t _need_ to face her. He doesn’t _want_ to face her.

But… maybe he should. Maybe he should at least see.

He slips along the corridors, along familiar routes, down, and then through the kitchens, and then down more stairs, until he reaches the dungeons.

Out of use, usually - but now there’s lights down there, and he can smell blood even without entering them. He braces himself.

Silent, he rounds the corner, and walks to where the interrogator’s room ought to be, the stench of blood unbearable. Maybe it’s just his senses, however.

The Heart beats quickly - is there a charm, nearby? An altar?

Soi Fon is... _working_ when he finds her, a barely conscious person strung up by hooks before her.

In a corner of the room, an Outsider shrine hums, runes on the table before it.

He starts shaking, dread coursing through him, and for moments it feels like he’s back in that chair, Soi Fon standing over him, scalpel in hand.

He can’t leave her to just… continue working. A sleep dart finds its way into her neck, and she collapses on the blood-stained floor.

Later, he’ll be able to fire her - or send her to Coldridge.

Now… now she can just stay unconscious.

He takes the runes from the altar.

* * *

_he collapses, a crossbow bolt in her skull, and he stares at the corpse dispassionately._

_She can’t hurt anyone. Not anymore._

* * *

_He crawls up to her in his shadow form, looking up. She looks… small, even from this angle._

_Ice in his heart, he rises up behind her, and rends her limb from limb._

_It is nothing more than she deserves. Nothing that she hasn’t brought upon herself._

* * *

The way back to the boat is almost _insultingly_ easy – which means he will need to shore up the defences, and account for the possibility of supernatural attackers, because it is _disturbingly_ simple for him to enter and leave the Tower undetected.

“I heard the confession even over here,” Samuel says, when Kisuke climbs into the boat, sopping wet from a second swim in Wrenhaven. “That was an impressive thing you did tonight, stopping that man. Now... now let’s go home, Kisuke.”

* * *

_Samuel looks grim, solemn as Kisuke return, now drenched in blood and water both._

_No one is alive in that Tower, now, except the guards coming to arrest the Lord Regent, and Soi Fon’s victim in the dungeon._

_But he is finished, now, with killing._

_There shall be no more need of it, after all._

_“So it is done. Let’s return to the pub,” Samuel says, and looks away from him._

* * *

It feels so odd.

He will be free, soon, free to walk the streets and do his job properly, standing by Emily’s side in the Tower. 

He stares out at the city, over the river.

He did what Yoruichi would have wanted him to do, he is certain, but he feels- hollow. Tired.

Exhausted to the bone, rather than exultant.

And the feeling of death stalking him is _still_ there, even if he is certain no one is following. Not even a masked assassin.

Maybe it’s just the stress.

“The others will be waiting for you inside – I’ll be out here for a bit, need some time of me own, to reflect and such,” Samuel says, pushing Kisuke in the direction of the pub, and Kisuke goes.

Indeed, they are celebrating inside – an audiograph playing music, Havelock pouring drinks for everyone.

Mayuri catches his eye from across the pub, and lifts a glass of cider in his direction, a rare, genuine smile playing on his face, Kurosaki sitting next to him, talking to Unohana across the table.

Emily is absent – sleeping, probably. Or awake, waiting for him in her room.

He should visit her before going to bed anyway.

There’s a round of applause.

“Kisuke! The man that has freed the city of the Lord Regent!” Teague walks up to him, a glass in hand. “Feels like you’ve been the only one doing the work around here – but no, the real work starts tomorrow! Emily will be on the throne within the week – we’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow, I think. Here, drink to celebrate!”

Kisuke pulls the mask off his face, and drains the glass of dark liquid – wine? Some sort of whiskey? Whatever it is that Teague is himself drinking - forcing himself not to gag and spit it out. It tastes disgusting, a mix of bitterness, sourness, and sickly sweetness.

Side effect of the sense enhancement, most likely – is all food going to be so inedible?

He walks over the counter, to put the glass down, and his hand twitches, almost dropping it to the floor. 

He leans against the wall for a few moments, watching the celebrating group, but the air feels… oddly stifling.

His vision swims as he walks outside, and he stumbles after a few steps, sinking to his knees – and then to the floor, shaking.

“-he went here. There, there he is,” he hears Havelock’s voice dimly, through a haze of confusion. “Samuel, take his body, and make sure no one can find it. No one but us, Pendleton, and Martin can know, you understand?”

Samuel curses, and then Kisuke is being dragged somewhere, Havelock’s footsteps receding.

“I’m sorry, Kisuke – I only put in a quarter dose of the poison and distilled plague they gave me. You’re strong – I hope you’ll live,” are the last words Kisuke hears before the world goes black.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!   
> Reviews are extremely welcome <3


	10. Chapter 10

Shinji's men find him on a boat, drifting in streets of the flooded district. 

It's little more than floating scrapwood now, leaking and dirty from knocking into buildings and fences for what seems like a couple of days, and the body inside looks like a _corpse_ at first glance – but the Whalers assure him the man is not dead. 

Pale, barely breathing, blood around the eyes and mouth, but not dead. 

He had a handsome face, once, Shinji had seen him in the gazebo that day - but Coldridge has left him skin and bones, exhausted, faded out.

He is searched for any hint of a threat, every weapon removed and put into a box before Shinji even gets there, but it's not the pouches of sleep darts and crossbow bolts and bullets, the pile of humming bone charms that have the Whalers ill at ease when he gets there, Gin shadowing him.

A familiar Mark is branded on the Lord Protector's left hand. Not a pale tattoo imitation of the type borne by witches and heretics and madmen. The real thing, he can just _tell._

The Mark is a curse and a weapon and a death sentence in more ways than one, Shinji knows, and here it's because they can't leave him with it, now when they don't know what he can do (enter and leave unseen and unnoticed, people vanishing with no trace and no alarm and no concern). 

He's acutely aware, too, that if they cut it off, the wound and the poison _will_ kill the former Lord Protector quick enough and even if they _don't_ , then the plague shall take his life. It really is kinder to just kill him now. And then they can turn in his corpse for the reward.

That’ll make Urahara the first person to die by his hand after the Empress. That’s what he’s reduced to now, he supposes. Mercy kills.

Perhaps it will not be _quite_ the last murders, considering there’s still Aizen and his witches to deal with.

He cuts the hand off first, of course, because he's not an _idiot_ , and Gin is quick to pick it up and take it away, mask disguising any hint of disgust – if there is one. 

And then Shinji cuts off Lord Protector’s head with his sword, one single clean strike. The kindest anyone’s probably been to him for a long time.

He’ll need to clean the blade later, of course.

His Mark _burns_ , more painful than it has ever been, and every Whaler around him clutches their hands, and he staggers away from the corpse on instinct.

His power drains away – and the line of red around Urahara’s neck glows gold, skin _knits_ itself together, leaving a stich-like scar behind.

What the _fuck_.

Wait, no, rather _why_ the fuck is the Outsider choosing to play favourites right now, exactly? Or does she want the man to suffer through a natural death?

Seriously, what the _fuck?_

* * *

He awakens, his mind dull and faded. He is-

He was- poisoned, he thinks, poisoned by those he trusted.

He tries to push himself off from the ground, and is met with pain. His left hand is... gone. There is a rough bandage there, to stop the bleeding, now soaked through with blood. His blood.

It is so very hard to think.

He blinks away a film of red over his vision. More blood. He must be sick, he realises. He must be sick, _again_.

Something beats under his coat, above his own heart. He thinks, dimly, he can almost remember what it is, as he pulls it out. A heart. The Heart?

“ _What have they done to us?”_ a familiar voice says in his mind, and it hurts. 

It hurts.

He gets to his feet, eventually, teeth gritted, concentrating past the dizziness and exhaustion and the desire to empty his already vacant stomach on the floor.

The Heart whispers to him, things he can’t quite think through at the moment, guiding and reassuring.

He is in a- a building, not in the cellar of it because he can see a staircase that goes down, and it is flooded half-way up.

There is no door outside – perhaps he is higher than that, then, not the ground floor either.

With difficulty, he climbs the stairs, eyes drifting shut, all attention on what he can hear.

Two sets of footsteps sound above, and so he has to stay quiet, careful, as he walks up and sneaks to the balcony, avoiding the patrolling… not the... the guards, not the city guards, but people in whaler masks. Whalers... the Whalers.

His eyes may not see well, but his ears are sharp and he can hear them breathe, and avoid them.

From the balcony, he awkwardly drops to a ventilation pipe, and walks along it.

‘ _It is ahead,’_ the Heart whispers, and he listens.

Time seems to have no meaning – he can’t tell how long he stumbles along ventilation shafts and balconies, avoiding swimming in the flooded street when possible and walking through houses – in through one balcony, out the other – to avoid the krusts spitting acid at him.

The Heart talks to him, guiding him onwards, and that overrides the pain and exhaustion.

‘ _If you do not move, you will die. I am sorry it has come to this,’_ the Heart whispers with the voice of a dead friend.

Even if he has to stop and cough up blood every once in a while.

The intermittent screaming of the broadcasts sends him to his knees, every time, remaining hand clamped over an ear.

They are loud. So very loud. 

It hurts, and he’d whine- but his throat refuses to make a single sound.

Why can’t he speak? He can’t remember.

_‘What have they done to us? Only a little further, Kisuke. Only a little more.’_

He reaches- other people, eventually. Their faces are stained with blood, and they cough like him.

 _Weepers,_ his mind supplies, and the Heart echoes, “ _Those who have the plague. Abandoned, forgotten, dying. What has this city come to!”_

They do not mind him walking past them, stumbling and led by an object they do not seem to see.

He reaches a tall building, eventually, and the Heart beats quickly – but it also beats in the direction of the water.

He is unsure of where to go.

The Heart speaks to him again, urgent. _‘He said he burned and broke it. He did not. He gave it to the fish, and hoped he’d be forgiven.’_

The water is freezing and stinking worse even than that in the streets, but he dives down to where the Heart leads him, _sinking_ to the bottom more than swimming there.

A fish bites at him, and he flails, raking fingers along its gills until it swims away.

Something glimmers among the silt, pale against the darkness, and he reaches for it, pulling it out, a slippery and clammy thing. He desperately kicks his legs to get closer to the shallows, until he can kneel in the silt with his head above water.

In his hand is...

His hand, marked with an arcane symbol, untouched by rot or fish.

Shaking, unsure of what he is doing, he pulls the tight bandages off his wrist, and shoves the hands against the stump.

The Mark glows a bright gold, and then – bone, flesh, skin knit back together, leaving a stitch-like seam around his wrist.

Energy surges back through him, clearing his eyes and mind, wiping away some of the exhaustion, and rune-power uses itself up to grant him strength, agility, that in health would make him unstoppable, and now simply make him as capable as he was mere... days? Or just hours ago? How long has it been?

He flexes his fingers, and takes the Heart out again. He might need the runes now.

“ _The shrine, built in secret by a worshipper going mad from plague. He hoped it would save him,”_ Yoruichi’s voice - Yoruichi herself, or at least a remnant of her -whispers, and wet and sopping but _less_ exhausted now, he walks back to the building where the Heart had noticed whalebone in.

Several trash fires nearby warm him, slightly, and he wants to linger, to warm himself.

“ _No time. No time for the men hiding from guards, no time for the child empress hidden away, no time for the dog crawling through the streets. No time left for this city,”_ Yoruichi reminds him, and he freezes.

What has been done to Emily? What has been done to the servants, the philosophers, _Mayuri_?

He needs his equipment – and then to deal with the Assassins. Only then he can go to the pub, and hope he’ll arrive in time.

Going through the sewers will be the best way to travel, but here the entrances to them are all surely securely locked; he will need a key.

The shrine is on the top floor of the building, hidden in an attic with no windows and lit by a last few burning lamps.

Runes lie on an altar, and he picks them up, letting the blood from his eyes activate them.

A blue light washes over the altar, the room, and there is a presence there with him, behind him.

Cold fingers run through his hair, slow and gentle.

“Here you are at last, in a ruined and drowning world. Your captor – the one who killed your Empress, your charge, your friend, is the assassin Shinji. Half your loyal friends have poisoned you, and dumped your body in the river. The other half do not even know where you vanished to.”

* * *

“ _The other half hope you never return out of whatever nightmare world you crawled out of in the first place. You drowned this city in blood as you walked. They are terrified for themselves - and the rest of the world.”_

* * *

“Why did they do it? To protect their secrets? To dispose of a _volatile_ element that terrified them to the very bones, because they were afraid of it turning on them on a whim? Or because they know you would never let them manipulate the child? Maybe all. Maybe none. Perhaps this is simply the nature of man.”

* * *

“ _Perhaps they did it to save the city. You could have merely removed those men with cold precision - instead you chose to slaughter everyone in your path you deemed guilty._

_“Perhaps it was simply justice attempting to catch up to you.”_

* * *

She walks around to face him.

“They killed you, the assassins, but I decided that it ought not be your end – for it was done as a _mercy_ kill. Not murder.

“One more chance - that’s what you get. The decisions you made, up until now – I have been here before the islands rose, and will be long after, and you have been so very unusually entertaining. I look forwards to seeing this story to the end.”

She leaves him - and for some reason, he thinks he won’t be seeing her any time soon.

His equipment is hidden in a large, blocked up building by the shore– the Heart feels like it will explode from the proximity to several bone charms in one place, and he banishes it. A whale oil refinery, it looks like.

He Flickers, up and up and up, ledges and balconies and then the roof, and Shadows to escape the notice of the Whalers guarding the entrance.

Stored in a box, his things are at the very bottom. The wristbow, the sword, and the mask he picks up most hastily, then the pouches with vials and sleep darts and the pile of bone-charms to clip back to his clothes.

The sword has yet to take a life. Perhaps that will change when he finds Yoruichi’s killer.

The pouches of elixirs are full, and he downs one of each, feeling his health and power ebb back into him.

He is certain he passed the hideout of the Whalers already, on his way from his prison to the water. There was a boarded-up alley, blockaded, multiple charms in the vicinity judging from what the Heart had behaved like – sure sign of a lair of heretics.

* * *

_He slaughters all of the Weepers – what life is that, with that agony, that looming death? – as he passes the streets, back to where he thinks the hideaway is._

_It is a mercy._

_It is._

* * *

He takes the roofs until he gets there, and watches the Whalers scurry around their stronghold, far above the ground. Some patrolling, some clearing up what seems to be the carnage left from an Overseer attack, kicking away wreckage and displaced masks, mopping up blood and carrying away corpses.

* * *

_He could kill them all, for what they did-_

_No. No. No more blood. The Outsider- she gave him life, to a_ murderer _who’s killed so very many._

_The least he can do now is show mercy._

_He is better than a rabid hound. He has to be. For the kid. Yoruichi… Yoruichi would not want her to be raised in a world of blood and death._

* * *

_He’s killed with precision, before, and then others, those Yoruichi judged as threats to peace, to order, to others._

_This whole place is full of assassins._ Killers. 

_Should he… should he?_

* * *

_He takes the Whalers out one by one, unwilling to engage even one in a fair fight, not when weakened. The corpses disintegrate as they fall, from bolt to the head, or knife to the back, or a broken neck, and he slowly empties out the hideaway, until there is no one left except those hidden in a building._

_There, he is more certain in his actions, dealing with them in his Shadow form – so blessedly painless, lacking aches and wear that his own body is full of, as they come to investigate a small noise, or a draft of wind, not expecting the pool of darkness in the corner to creep up and tear them limb from limb._

_Shinji sees him coming._

_He does not bother to hide, and the man does not run._

_He does plead for his life._

_“Please. I know I don’t deserve it – but please,” he says, before Kisuke blankly rips out his throat._

_He has no mercy left in him._

_He hadn’t killed a single person in the previous missions - and it hadn’t been enough to stop the traitors from trying to kill him anyway for being too dangerous._

_What does it matter? What does anything matter, as long as he gets back, and saves Emily again?_

* * *

Men patrol the _rooftops_ , too, just a little lower, and he considers the best approach.

Perhaps they will know if time stops. Perhaps not.

Snippets of conversations reach him.

“Do you think Shinji is losing his touch? Not killing that guy?”

“Weren’t you there? The Outsider put his head back on, and we didn’t dare try again after that.”

“Why do you think she’d _care_?”

Because apparently he’s entertaining, but there’s no way for them to know that.

“I wish we could go into the city. But Shinji and Gin have the only sewer keys – or, well, before Gin, you know.”

“Nothing to see out in the city, not anymore. Everything is almost as dead as here.”

So, he will need to face the man anyway, whether he decides to kill him, or leave him alone.

He Flickers carefully, avoiding the men perched on roofs like he himself would usually do, and hears _more._

“We haven’t killed since the Empress. Thefts, intimidation, spying – no killing. Is Shinji getting old?”

“You seen him in the Overseer attack? Nah, I reckon he just thinks there’s enough dead in this city without our input. Can’t disagree, honestly.”

He chooses to slip along the planks linking the top buildings as a _shadow_ , after that. He pickpockets everyone he passes by, takes everything he sees. Undoubtedly, all of that is at least in part acquired by the money for the Empress’ murder.

Helped by the gloom of the evening, the highly trained men do not see him. Do not notice him, not even when he is slipping through the main building house – noting a hole punched through every floor, down to the very sewers. That must be how they reach he rest of the city.

‘ _Why have you brought me here? Am I meant to forgive this man for what he did?’_ Yoruichi whispers, as he gets closer and closer to the target, and he has no answer. Not yet.

The top floor of the house is where Shinji lives. He’s there even now, alone, unguarded, sitting in a chair at a desk. Clearly not expecting a Weeper with a missing hand to be able to find him, here.

Or, perhaps, thinking that if Kisuke decides to come for him, nothing would be able to stop him anyway.

Kisuke watches him from the upper floor of the room, uneasy.

 _‘His hands do violence. But there is a different dream in his heart. He wishes the Empress lived,’_ Yoruichi whispers reluctantly, when he asks her. ‘ _He wanted to leave you with your things. Death with honour. But he has a position to protect.’_

Kisuke had let the Regent live. Shinji… if not him, another assassin would have been found.

As interchangeable as a knife, a sword.

He finds the diary by the bed, and flicks through it.

_Eighteen years on this_ _ugly rock, in this_ _city full of filth and coldness. In this time, I have acquired on my hands the blood of learned men, of_ _noble_ _pedophiles, of guildsmen and tradesmen, of unfaithful lovers and spurned suitors, of politicians who were far too just for their own good, or who were far too cruel, of_ _law enforcers_ _who came too close to bringing the wrong man to justice, or had instead wronged the wrong people._

 _I thought - why would an empress_ _be any different? Anything more than simply an achievement, a truly memorable addition to my record?_

_And yet – now every night she plagues my dreams, as the rats do the city._

_Why do I feel the entire weight of this dying city crushing down on my back?_

_The Lord Protector, Urahara, was raised on Serkonos, but of foreign roots. Same as me. I might have known that fact already, perhaps – but it didn’t matter until I saw a fellow sewer rat in the guise of a man of the court._

_He makes me think of home, of my youth, when I was still optimistic and thought men could be anything but cruel._

_If I return – what will I find? A city as rotten as this? Or is it simply me that has not fared well through the passage of time?_

_I have left him alive. The others think we will turn in his corpse for coin – but I am certain the Outsider has different plans._

ZORGANSTAN

_Kisuke has killed so many. Can he stand to spare this man, now?_

_...The man chose to spare him, chose to not try to kill him again._

_...Perhaps, he too, deserves one more chance._

* * *

_A crossbow bolt shot later, it is done. Shinji is gone - and hopefully, the rest of the Whalers will be left without their arcane powers._

_The threat is eliminated._

* * *

_One last death, he swears to himself. This will be the last one._

_He will be quick, and he will be kind._

_And after that- after that, no more blood._

* * *

Kisuke grips three sleep darts in his hand, and Flickers down, behind him, sticking two darts in Shini’s neck right away, just in case he has some kind of supernatural tolerance for them.

The man struggles for a second, and then falls limp.

Kisuke takes the sewer key, and the key for the chest upstairs, the chest itself containing gold, and a rune, and resists the urge to use the sword on the unconscious man.

They’ve all made their choices.

Shinji can _stew_ in his regrets. 

Right now, there is no time for Kisuke to do the same.

A few hundred coins richer after emptying Shinji’s safe, and the rest of the hideout, Kisuke makes sure to lock the sewer door behind him, and walks through it, exiting into what seems to be an even slummier area than before.

Or, rather, more corpse ridden, with piles of dead bodies stinking worse than the killing floor of a slaughterhouse – there, at least, the bodies were not left to decay for weeks.

The source is easy enough to see – corpse carts on rails, arriving every so often and emptying their contents onto the ground.

Plague victims from the rest of the city.

He Flickers carefully around the rooftops, avoiding the rats, and the wandering survivors – that do not seem to be Weepers. Those that are immune, then, or asymptomatic carriers.

He ends up perched on a roof, staring out at the guarded area. Patrolling guards, an arc pylon, multiple stiltwalkers- All impeding his way.

He could, of course, Flicker to the top of a cart, and then stop time just before it passes through the wall of light gate at the end, but then he picks up on the conversation of two guards below.

“The survivors in those buildings – when can our tallboys blow them out with some whale oil tanks?”

“Gotta wait for the oil for them floodlights, Frankie. Just a while longer.”

Kisuke pauses, indecisive.

He _had_ noticed, in the building he was in, a good half a dozen people, walking, talking about trying to escape.

Before, he hadn’t thought they were in quite immediate danger – but now…

He Flickers to the ground, and then enters the building, passing through it to get a good luck at the people inside.

A man, and two women; and a married couple on the floor above.

On the staircase, he nearly runs into a man, and stumbles back.

The man’s eyes widen.

“The Empress Ghost! By the Outsider – I know who you are!” 

Kisuke tenses.

“I’m Blake – I was a smuggler, in better times – and now I’m trying to smuggle myself and the other past the blasted quarantine gate! If you can spare some time to disable that arc pylon behind the buildings, we can get to safer space where some of me boys can get us. I’ll pay you, I swear!”

Emily is waiting for him, and so are the others – but Yoruichi would tell him to help these men, too.

He stops time, Flickering quickly enough to steal the tank, and then get back to where he started with the initial casting of the power not even ending, even if it does mean he has to drink two vials to Flicker fast enough to do that. He’ll probably be dead before the day is out anyway – what does a little organ damage matter now?

Blake notices him, and then leans out of the window to check the pylon for himself.

“Outsider’s tits, you sure do work fast. We just have to get across the street now, avoid the tallboy. Reckon you can keep an eye out, and tell us when you think it’s safe to go?”

Yes, that he can do.

The survivors run across the street and into a different house at his cue, until it’s just Blake left. The man goes so slowly it’s _painful_. Is there something wrong with his leg?

Kisuke’s heart speeds up as the tallboy starts to get closer, surely almost within vision range...

He makes the decision.

He Flickers ahead, grabbing the man, and then Flickering through the door to the apartment building, shutting it behind himself quickly.

His head splits in two, and he gulps down another vial.

That is how many for the day, then – four, or seven?

He can’t even keep _counT_.

The thanks of the survivors don’t register until he’s already too far away to respond.

After scavenging the two runes in the area, he returns to the building where the survivors started, then Flickering to the top of a passing cart.

He flattens himself against the top, hoping the stiltwalkers don’t seem him, and freezes time just as the cart is about to pass through the deadly wall of electricity, Flickering ahead to where there is a door.

Through the door, down the stairs, and out another door, he’s in a street. A way along it, he finds a building – one that his Vision shows to contain a sewer hatch – and the sound of Weepers from further down the street.

Unwilling to disturb them, he Flickers into the building via a window, and makes his way down until he finds the sewer hatch, letting himself in.

Not too far left to go now. Not far at all.

He finds a Bottle Street thug some way in to the sewers, where the oppressive stink is unbearable with a clear head – or, functioning, at least – and a nose that may be as sensitive as that of a hound now.

“You going somewhere, Kitty Ghost?” the thug asks. “There’s a gate in front – can only get there with Slackjaw’s key. He’s in the tunnel to the left – said he’s gone to deal with whoever is causing all our problems.”

Kisuke blinks, and then nods.

The gate that he can see doesn’t have gaps big enough to Shadow through – so he goes left.

The tunnel narrows, leading on and on, until he’s squeezing between narrow rocks – and then, enters a large, open space.

Slackjaw is indeed there – chained and restrained, Granny Rags walking around a large pot of boiling water, decorated with bone.

“Oh dearie, I am glad to see you!” she says, turning her milky eyes on Kisuke. “This young ruffian – thanks to you, I will be able to deal with him, and make soup of his bones. Would you do this old Granny a favour, and kill him for me?”

Kisuke shakes his head, slowly, hands creeping to the sword at his belt – but Granny simply turns away, continuing to add things to the pot. 

There are no gloves on her hands now, and he can see a familiar Mark on her left hand. 

The Outsider’s mark.

“Ghost! Lord Protector!” Slackjaw shouts. “If you kill this hag, I’ll pay you! Just save my life, please!”

He… can’t leave. 

“The secret! It’s in an old cameo! Piece of necklace, somewhere around here!”

Shinji, perhaps, might have had a change of heart – but this woman?

Casually, he starts walking around, aimlessly approaching the stairs leading to a higher floor and a room.

It’s… dank, somewhat, dripping water caught by buckets standing around, illuminated by candles, half the warmth emanating from an incinerator and a bunch of ashes inside still giving off warmth.

Vision shows him blue vials, scattered around, that he picks up and stuff into a spare pouch, as well as...

It’s hidden under the mattress, a tiny polished wooden plaque framed in silver, with a silver carving of a woman against the brown background. The cameo?

It hisses unpleasantly against his hands, like the bonecharms with ill side-effects – related to Granny somehow, perhaps?

Probably something he might as well destroy, like he had with the _wrong_ charms.

It doesn’t break in his fingers, so he tosses it into the incinerator instead, closes the metal door, and presses the button.

There’s a scream, outside, and then he steps out of the way as Granny appears in the room in a puff of black smoke, screaming, before collapsing unconscious.

* * *

_He kills her, there - even without this charm, she may still be dangerous._

_His list of kills is low enough, still - he’s certain Yoruichi would not mind._

* * *

He makes his way down, and frees Slackjaw.

“Thanks, I swear, I owe you my life for this. Anything – I’ll give half our funds, if you want me to,” the man says, rubbing his wrists.

Kisuke pauses. 

The pad of paper he keeps with him is essentially ruined, so instead he Flickers back, and picks up a random book and pen, returning, with a note scribbled on a back page.

“There are enough dead in the city. Stop adding to them,” Slackjaw reads aloud, and looks up at him, frowning. “I suppose- I owe you my life, for this, and you have done _worse_ to men better than me. Bottle Street, and probably the whole bloody _district_ owes you for making sure that witch ain’t gonna rise from the next time someone puts a bullet through her head.”

She had been – immortal?

Slackjaw then glances down at Kisuke’s neck, oddly, starting at something on it, before shrugging, and going for the exit.

“Were you needing the sewer key? I got it here, and a backup, just in case – take it.”

Kisuke nods his thanks, and Flickers ahead.

Past the gate, he finds a group of survivors, talking – and silencing when he approaches, stepping out of his way as he goes to exit the building via the sewer hatch, exchanging nervous looks.

He ends up in the basement of a random house, goes up the stairs until he gets to the window, and – there. 

The Hound Pits Pub.

He’s back.


	11. Chapter 11

He walks up the stairs silently, wary of the glowing figure he saw through the walls of this abandoned apartment facing the side of the pub– but it’s just Cecilia. He taps the wall, and she screams.

“Please! No!- Oh, it’s you, Lord Protector. Thank the stars. We all thought you were dead! Except for Samuel, he was certain you lived. I saw him, on the river, before- before the killing started. He’s smart enough not to have come back yet, but I’ll bet he’s out there. ” She takes a deep breath, trying to calm down, and Kisuke feels vaguely guilty. On the wall, he writes out, “ _What happened? Why are you here?”_ with the pen.

“At first – Lord Ukitake and Admiral Kyouraku and General Yamamoto had left, Pendleton told them there would be no need to stay at the pub any longer. Once they were gone, out of sight, out of hearing- he came to us, said it was time for our bonus. Havelock stood there, next to Teague.” She blinks away tears. “He shot them, at the signal – Lydia, Wallace, in the back of the head, just like he did with the targets.

“I’d be dead, too, but Wallace said I wasn’t going to get anything, so I hadn’t come out. I hear him – Pendleton – apologising, said no one was ever meant to know about what we did here. I don’t know why. Martin was drinking.”

“ _Callista?”_ Kisuke writes.

“Havelock almost shot Callista, too, then said he owed her Uncle a debt, and that Emily would ask why she was gone. They went for Unohana and Kurosaki next, heading off to the attic.

I don’t know what happened after that.”

He nods in understanding.

“Emily – I hope she turned away, closed her eyes, the poor child.”

Kisuke leaves the apartment via the door, and crouches low immediately, ducking out of sight of two guards and a patrolling stiltwalker.

Watching the walker for the route, he inadvertently ends up listening to the two guards.

“What a day, huh? Gonna be a great party, tonight,” says the shorter one, further away.

“If we even make it to then. Look at this mess!” replies his companion, waving vaguely at the pub and surroundings.

“Relax, one of the officers said he was dead. Poisoned and thrown in the river. If you ask me, he’s long gone – the ghost. If he even _was_ Urahara. The man probably died in the sewers after escaping Coldridge, if you ask me – they just found someone who looked about right, to scare the people if they saw him.”

“That’s what a rational person would do, not this guy – whoever he is. You have to understand the criminal mind. I hear they hid the Kaldwin girl from him the whole time he was around! Heard they locked him in the cage and let him out only for the missions. Who do _you_ think massacred the servants, eh? Why do you think we are here, looking for clues as to where he is?”

He has no idea why people keep thinking he is a killer.

* * *

_He grimaces. He deserves this, for the mess he’s made of this city._

* * *

_He’s simply done what he had to._

_But then, that’s what the Lord Regent said too, hadn’t he, and Tousen, before that?_

* * *

“The criminal mind, eh? A man who touched no one – not even the Empress, as it turns out - now killing servants. Logical. So what he’s doing now, if he’s alive, and not out of this city?”

“Watching? Waiting? Maybe even here, right now, with that creepy cat skull mask, creeping closer and closer, ever closer, until…”

He wants to laugh. He really does.

“Oh, cut it out!”

“What’s so impressive about this Ghost, anyway? Who did he deal with? An Overseer? Some noblemen? He could never stand up to _us_.”

“He didn’t need to. No one saw him but the civilians that he helped in the meantime. Our fellows never spotted a trace, except the missing wallets. I hope he does show up, now – I want to see you run to hide behind the tallboys out back, crying in fear.”

One of which has currently vacated the area, leaving him to stop time, and Flicker to the attic level in peace, staying out of sight of the windows until the gets to the river-facing one, still open, and climbs in.

There are guards here, carefully staying away from the tables– but no sign of bodies, and behind him, a tallboy is tossing small whale oil bombs at the workshop, while two Overseers stand and play their music, so loud that even here – it disables his powers.

He listens to the guards in the attic, staying out of sight.

“Our men are still trying to penetrate the workshop. There’s signs that Unohana and her assistant were held here, after the kidnapping – if we find them, we might need to arrest them, but _no killing_. They’re the only ones that can cure the plague.”

“What about that Pandyssian that’s supposed to be around here somewhere?”

“Arrest him, too, or kill him, I don’t care. If the Ghost hasn’t killed him himself.”

They must be hiding in the workshop.

He looks at the device on the roof. It looks- finished, and there is a switch, clearly labelled, to choose whether to stun, or kill.

The only thing missing – a third whale oil tank.

Kisuke retreats into the room, a little, just until he is out of range of the music, then stops time, Flickers to the rooftop, then the balcony, then steps into the workshop – where a whale oil tank has been left by the door, the attempt to finish the device clearly abandoned in the haste to get away from the risk of tallboy attacks.

He picks it up, and returns to the device, just in time.

Time resumes, and here –the music is so loud, it grinds into his bones, _painful_ , and he can’t focus enough to use his powers. He can barely stagger to the slot for the third tank, put it in, close the safety on it, check the lever is still on ‘safe’ and then activate the device, a red vial already in his hand, contents going into his mouth. After all, what if it targets the people still inside?

Better to just knock everyone out, rather than kill them.

* * *

_He has a sword. He can dispose of the unconscious guard properly by himself._

* * *

Electricity arcs, going everywhere – he collapses to the floor, barely conscious, the red vial keeping him going just long enough for the shockwave to pass.

The music ends. The tallboy sinks to its knees, and then lower, some safety measure to make sure if the driver passes out they won’t die.

He drinks another vial, to make sure he can _walk,_ even if his legs still shake, and Flickers down to the balcony, going inside – just in time to almost hit Kurosaki with the door.

“Holy _shit_!” he exclaims, stepping back. “You’re- you’re fucking alive!”

Kisuke shrugs. Unohana, who was sitting by Mayuri’s bed, turns around, surprise on her normally calm face, and Mayuri himself cautiously sits up from the bed, where he was burying his head under the pillows – trying to block out the sound?

There’s cuts and bruises on his face and arms – and his left arm is broken, if already set and bandaged by Unohana.

“ _What happened here, Mayuri?”_

“Pendleton and Teague,” Mayuri spits the words out like the vilest of swearwords, “thought that since no one would listen to the words of a Pandyssian, they might as well subdue me-“ which explains the marks on his face and the arm, Kisuke thinks, “and sell me to the highest bidder for a- well, you can guess what for.”

…Perhaps he should _castrate_ them when he finds them, even if he doesn’t kill them.

Except… Mayuri is intelligent and a quick thinker, but also almost as frail as Kisuke.

“ _Then- how did you escape?”_

Mayuri grunts, turns around, and, one handed, pull up the thin shirt he has on to show...

It is an imprint of a black handprint, right on the small of his back, the fingers too long and ending too sharp to be human.

Like an imprint of his Shadow form’s hand.

Then, suddenly, the black turns gold – and Mayuri vanishes and reappears a few steps away, in a flash of gold.

“Your powers are either _contagious_ , or you accidentally decided to share them with me while we slept,” Mayuri says dryly. “I can feel it when _you_ use your powers, too – it tingles, just a little.”

“ _Does the red elixir not work?”_

“Not- oh, I am an _imbecile._ Do we have-”

Unohana hands over one of her red vials.

Kisuke watches him drink – and shudder in disgust and pain at the soft cracking sound as the bones heals.

“Incredible – the injury, simply gone,” Mayuri whispers. “I will have to test the extent to which I can use your powers later, Kisuke. Now- we have little time to waste.”

Unohana inclines her head, and speaks.

“I heard Teague mention that the lighthouse where they have taken Emily will have the music playing over loudspeakers. Judging from Mayuri’s reaction, it is likely that you will be rendered helpless if you enter. Your time stopping ability – if you enter the area, will it stop, or simply last until it runs out?”

“ _ast, but it does not last_ long _.”_

“Then – there is only one way to deal with the traitors.”

She gestures to Mayuri’s desk, where a large syringe full of a bright, iridescent blue liquid lies.

“Last time, you said that even a drop let you extend the effect of your abilities, by far more than should have been possible. With your healing…”

He understands what she is implying.

Deal with the traitorous Loyalists, get Emily to the broadcast system to order around the guards as soon as possible, and then it will all be over.

But the whale oil is the only thing that can let him do that - and he’ll need so much of it to get through a whole location… It will likely kill him, afterwards.

“I will be going with you, so you don’t have to do it yourself,” Mayuri states, in a voice that forbids arguing.

Kisuke thinks he won’t mind the possibility of him being the last person he speaks to.

* * *

_He slips into the workshop via the rooftop door, happy that there are no Overseers with music boxes in this area._

_There are so many guards around, however- a small army._

_Well. Perhaps the traitors were hoping that that would be enough to stop the monster carving a bloody swath through the city._

_Inside – Unohana is there. So is Ichigo._

_Mayuri is not._

_“_ Where is he?” _he asks without preamble._

_Unohana looks grim._

_“They’ve taken him – I saw him, guarded by an Overseer with a music box, his hands and legs tied, being dragged onto the boat. I believe they may intend to sell him, later.”_

_Cold rage flares in his chest._

_“_ Where? _”_

_“An island, with a lighthouse. Kingsparrow Island.”_

_“_ How do I- _“_

_“Callista is in the Tower. I think she and Samuel might have set up something with a flare to call him back. Here – take this.”_

_She gives him a large syringe._

_Almost ten times the dose they tested._

_“You will need it. Now take the oil tank, and disable the guards.”_

_If he could be_ sure _the device would not touch those he_ wants _to live, he’d have set it to kill mode. As it is, he knocks them all out instead, using the whale oil tank Unohana and Kurosaki so happily provide._

* * *

Callista has already set off the flare, it seems, because Kisuke can see Samuel docking at the shore, on the right side of the tower instead of the left.

He and Mayuri Flicker into the boat separately, Mayuri stumbling a little, and Samuel raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“I thought you’d be here, but still... Never pays to be against you, eh, Kisuke? I saw the signal. We’ll need to get out of here soon – for now, the other Loyalists are alive, but who knows what the Admiral, Pendleton, and Teague could choose to do. They’re dead scared of you.”

Kisuke nods.

“One last trip across the river, then, to where the river meets the sea – that’s where the Lord Regent was building his new lighthouse. Ought to be quite a sight.”

* * *

_Callista is indeed in the Tower, and sends up the flare moments after the guards collapse, so Kisuke doesn’t even bother visiting her, just Flickering straight into Samuel’s boat._

_“Glad to see you’re alive. Let’s go rescue Emily again, eh? Just like old times.”_

_Kisuke turns away from him._

* * *

Even from a distance, Kisuke can see the Gatehouse and the Fort at the bottom of the Lighthouse – and hear the faint echoes of music over the water, sending tingles of pain across his limbs.

It is not long before it’s almost enough to stop his powers – and Mayuri looks affected too, shivering, hands twitching restlessly, and Kisuke motions for Samuel to stop.

“The music?” Samuel asks, frowning.

Kisuke nods, and turns to Mayuri, rolling up his sleeve to expose his wrist.

“Are you certain?” Mayuri asks quietly, staring intently at him.

There will be no going back from this – and maybe no going forward.

He makes sure the Heart is in the real world, again, and hides it under his coat.

The oil burns _worse_ this time, because even if he knows what to expect, there is so much more of it.

It glows through his skin, showing his veins, and his fingers go numb, and he throws up blood over the side of the boat before he can centre himself, and stop time.

The green light is almost blue, almost like the void, or diving deep into the sea and looking up.

Kisuke Flickers across the water, so quickly he doesn’t even have time to sink through it, focusing on the goal to try and blot out the pain and nausea. 

There are guards, so many guards, frozen like statues, and he walks past them, keeping an eye out for a broadcast station – but there isn’t one, not in the fort; must be upstairs, for the sake of additional security.

If it wasn’t for the injection, it would have even _worked_.

* * *

_He can’t waste time dealing with them, even if he wants to. He has to move._

_Besides- he’s sworn. No more killing._

* * *

_In frozen time, it is so very easy to kill._

_He slaughters his way through the place, as he searches – it turns up to be at the top, in the fancy lighthouse area itself, the first room as he enters, the spilled blood of the guards frozen in the air._

_He slashes every cable, breaks the audiograph that is playing – and only then feels safe._

_There is nothing they can do to stop him now._

_The burning in his veins is fading, now – but it should be enough. Or the vials he has should be enough, enough to finish the job._

* * *

The whale oil burns around his heart, and black spots dance in his vision, as he Flickers from tiny ledge to handhold to foothold in the incredibly high elevator shaft.

One mistake and he dies.

Kisuke’s heart is beating almost faster than he can bear.

His lungs start to burn, and it feels like the oil is in his throat, in his stomach, sending signals to his brain to throw up and get _rid_ of the poison, but he fights through it. Every moment the total burn gets less, the power – the electric acidity – the burn being used up for his magic, leaving only lingering pain behind, but not the damaging liquid itself.

There are more guards on the railing around the lighthouse, and he passes them, snagging a key with a shaking hand, opening the door and letting himself in.

Everything is hazy and wavering, time about to resume, and he tries to run – but stumbles as the burn grazes his spine.

The broadcast room is just off the lobby, a grate at the bottom letting him inside in Shadow form.

He removes and breaks the audiograph card inserted into the control board.

He falls to his knees as the world suddenly snaps, and resumes, the Mark on his hand burning almost worse than the whale oil in his body.

His power feels- burned out, depleted, reserves drained completely.

The edges of his vision are going black.

Just a little longer.

He downs a blue vial, then a red one – and he feels better, for mere moments, the red vial helping his body heal at _least_ a little from the oil.

He’s not certain if it is all gone, all used – or merely too weak to be used as a source, or his body no longer able to do so, the oil still inside, still burning him from the inside out.

But he’s almost there.

* * *

_He stalks through the place, looking for Mayuri. He wasn’t downstairs- where are they keeping him?_

_Kisuke finds Mayuri in a room, frozen, blindfolded, an Overseer outside playing a music box – dead in moments._

_There are two guards in Mayuri’s room – restraining him, but looking eager for their own turn. And Pendleton, too._

_The world is not kind to Pandyssians, and for that - there is no reason for Kisuke to be kind to the world. Or maybe the three men just realises they were all going to die anyway, so they might as well have fun before then?_

_Kisuke’s rage is as incandescent as the oil that must be killing him every single not-second._

_He lets time simply run slow instead of stopping completely, so that they will_ know _._

* * *

_He dismembers each man, letting them scream in slow motion as their limbs are ripped off by his Shadow form, blood splattering over the walls of the room, until he rips out their hearts and they still._

* * *

_He knocks them out with sleep darts, and then he borrows a sword – Mayuri’s gift is too good for something like this – and makes sure none of them will ever, ever be wanting to touch someone for that reason again._

_If they bleed out to death… that’s their problem._

* * *

_Time resumes to normal, finally, and he shifts to human form – weak, hurt, his insides both on fire but also already burned out, drained, exhausted from the whale oil._

_Mayuri is whining in fright, and Kisuke quickly cuts him loose, takes off the blindfold, is careful to minimise the contact between them, because he’s covered in muck and dirt and blood, of others’ and of his own plague-riddled one – but Mayuri launches at him, wrapping his arms around him like he can’t see any of it._

_“You came for me, you came, you’re here,” Mayuri whispers, crying against his chest, and Kisuke awkwardly wraps his arms around him for a second, mindful of the grime and infectious blood on his clothes. “Th- thank you, thank you,“ He breaks off, words silenced by hiccups._

_He leaves him there, curled up on the floor, crying from relief, heedless of the gore._

_He still has Emily to save._

* * *

_Teague is dead, a room over, having shot himself._

_Unable to face Kisuke._

_Too terrified of what the rabid hound will do to the master that hit it._

* * *

He Shadows along the staircase, up where he can hear voices. He flickers to a bookshelf visible through a crack in the door, and listens to the Loyalists gathered around a large planning table.

“-you _poisoned_ him?” Kisuke hears Ukitake hiss, the first time he’s heard anything but polite amusement or concern. “You _killed the servants?”_

Kyouraku stands behind him, looking grim.

“We have no choice, if we don’t want to be persecuted, arrested-“ Havelock sounds angry, his hand at his pistol.

With concern, Kisuke notes that only the traitors are armed. The other three are not.

“You always have a choice. Our actions have led to the restoration of Lady Emily – none will judge us for doing what we could. And if they do, then perhaps we deserve it – we have committed crimes, after all,” Yamamoto says.

From somewhere nearby – from a broom closet along the corridor – Kisuke can hear faint crying.

“Think! With your positions, and your alliance with us, we can manipulate the girl – with Kisuke around, that would have been impossible!” Teague speaks now, from where he’s pacing in the corner of the room.

“No. We will inform the guard – the Watch – the whole city of the truth,” Ukitake says.

Kisuke stops time the moment he sees Havelock start to move, his pistol rising into the air.

A sleep dart for each traitor. A moment to steal a key from Havelock, and then go to where he had heard faint crying, opening the door to find Emily, frozen there. He steps back – he shouldn’t let her touch his plague-stained clothes when she runs out – and lets time resume.

The traitors fall unconscious to startled gasps from the three loyal allies, and Emily – she looks up at the door, resigned, and then her eyes widen – in joy and alarm.

She runs up to him – but falls short, eyeing his neck oddly, and then the bloodstained sleeve and left side.

“ _They told me you were dead, too, but this time – this time I didn’t believe it either. I knew you’d come for me,”_ she signs rapidly. “ _Is it all going to be okay now? Will I be Empress?”_

He nods, tiredly, and gesture in the direction of the meeting room – where the trio are standing, watching him in shock.

“ _Ukitake, Kyouraku, Yamamoto. They are safe. Tell them- there are survivors, at the pub. Mayuri, Samuel – on a boat, maybe still close. I’ll need Mayuri’s help, later.”_

His vision is more dark than it isn’t, and he walks – stumbles to a table and a chair.

The Heart is beating, frantic, terrified, but he can’t hear anything from it.

He sinks to the soft carpet floor before he can make it there, the world dark, the burning pain growing faint, distant.

Everything _goes_ , and it is as though from across the river, that he can hear noises of alarm.

* * *

_He finds Havelock on a balcony, standing on the very edge, Emily in a headlock, pistol wildly pointing between Yamamoto and Kyouraku trying to approach him, Ukitake watching from a distance._

_With one last, great effort, Kisuke freezes time, and runs, pulling Emily out of the grip of the madman, Flickering backwards with his hand around hers._

_He hopes she will not sicken._

_Havelock screams when time resumes, wild eyes fixed on Kisuke’s face – and he is terrifying, he knows._

* * *

_It is because he is drenched in the muck he swam in, and the blood that he might as well have, the first, the only blood that he has spilled since his escape. Kindness has not paid off. There is no reason to not bring chaos._

* * *

_It is because the blood he spilled today clings to him, sight and scent, and he knows he broke his promise to the Heart, the one made after the Abbey- no more blood, no more death. He hopes she shall forgive._

* * *

_It is because he is drenched in the muck he swam in, and the blood that he might as well have, the blood he spilled over the last weeks and tonight. Because he looks like a dead man walking._

* * *

_It is because he is drenched in the muck he swam in, pale faced and bleeding from the eyes, a dead man risen for one last act – one last day, spilling no blood after a handful of missions where he left death behind him – but no more. No more death. Not the Whalers, not the Weepers, not the guards, not Shinji, not those that touched Mayuri, even, not even the traitors. Please. No more blood._

* * *

_Havelock jumps, realising he has nothing left to bargain with._

* * *

Kisuke sways, on his feet, strength completely exhausted as the others turn to him.

The world fades, falling away from him as he crumples to the floor.

He’s succeeded.

He’s done his job.

He hopes Yoruichi is proud.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are love!

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to write a comment on what you've enjoyed, any feelings you've acquired, or any pillows you want to throw at me because of any angst!  
> I'm going to be updating this every week - the whole thing is written up, just needs some edits!


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